


How I Met My Lover

by BenLMoore, Tanyk (BenLMoore)



Category: Zilv Gudel - Fandom, pornhub - Fandom
Genre: Bickering, British Slang, British age of consent is 16, Bullying, Daddy Issues, First Kiss, First Time, Getting to Know Each Other, Homophobic Language, M/M, Thank me later, bois in makeup, go watch their porn now, inked up muscle hunk, liberties taken, mild street violence among friends, pretty boy, seriously, straight guy discovers he's bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2019-10-22 23:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 55
Words: 57,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17671916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenLMoore/pseuds/BenLMoore, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenLMoore/pseuds/Tanyk
Summary: Zilv is a tattooed bouncer who hasn't quite worked out how to direct his own life. When he rescues Rourke, a young YouTuber, from getting jumped in an Essex alleyway, Zilv finds himself responsible for the arse he's saved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These lads are from Essex.
> 
> And here's a link to the first vid I saw from them: 
> 
> https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c577c0c829af

[ ](https://imgur.com/sRpO4yP)

**ZILV**

All right, so, I’m sitting on the hood of Anna’s Saab when this kid shoots past like a comet with a band of howling twats on his tail. I squeezed a final toke off my fag. Tossed it to the ground, stamped it out. Still no sign of Zara. That’s the only reason I got involved.

They chased him down an alley. Had him proper cornered. It would have been a good one to watch, wager how many blows the wee lad could take before he went down. I’d have bet 5 quid, he couldn’t withstand a single punch.

But I’d just watched one of those American superhero films. Must have been in a saving mood.

One of the hoodlums landed a solid one, right in his gut. A sick gasp blew out of the boy’s mouth, but he stayed on his feet. Didn’t think he had it in him. Would have lost me a fiver.

“All right, lads,” I said and spit on the pavement.

The whole gang of them turns on me at once. Brazen little fuckers, six of them against that little bloke. Ironman would not put up with this shit.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m your daddy,” I said. “Now, Jog on.”

“His daddy?”

They all laughed at the mouthy fuck. But they weren’t laughing quite so loud when I was kicking the little bastard to a pile of shit. One down, I lunged for the next one. They spread in the wind like the bunch of fannies. If the shiteaters had had the sense to team up, they could have kicked the shite out of me and the little puff, as well. 

Meanwhile, he’s standing by the fence watching like it’s all on the telly. One of those pretty little fairies you see working at the mall, selling lotion to girls and that. Like, here, you troll, rub this on your lizard skin every morning and after a while, you still won’t be half as lovely as this boy, because nature is a cruel bitch.

He was breathing all hard, looking me over, probably planning to blow me in gratitude. That would have made a good porno, actually.  Him and his black skinny jeans, and the PINK jumper, and the flowers on his trainers, looking like a professional cocksucker.

Anyway, my superhero work was done for the day. Saved the damsel and barely scuffed my Nikes. I turned to head back and see if my sister was out of the school yet.

Just as a public service announcement, I shouted over my shoulder, “In the future, maybe you want to dress a little different, yeah?”

 

ROURKE

Thick neck idiot. Like, you couldn’t wrap your hands around it and make the thumbs touch.

Hot? Yeah. Sure, but also an arsehole. And covered in disgusting tattoos. Also, he had to be eighteen and he’d just battered a kid in Year Ten.

All I saw was a big, stupid bully, like what those idiots would grow into.

What this particular caveman didn’t know was that while he was exhibiting his advanced masculinity (stupidity, and inability to solve a problem without violence), his wallet had fallen to the ground. It was presently under a bit of cardboard.

I certainly wasn’t going to tell him. Or thank him. Or suck him off, if that’s what he expected. I may look like a slag, but I’m not. Well, I wasn’t then.

What I was prepared to do was kick that mammoth in the bollocks if he came too close. But he was walking away, so it was okay.

Then, he said that bit about my clothes.

The closest thing I could find was a bit of lumber. So, I picked it up and swung like I was playing cricket.

“Get the fuck away from me!”

He raised his hands and backed away, calling me names, calling me crazy.

So, I hit him, right in the arm.

His eyes went so dark, I clung to my bat and tried to remember the last rites, so I could whisper them for myself.

“You know what,” he said, pointing an inked-up finger at me. “That’s the last time I help one of you lot.”

At first, I was just going to let the wallet lay there. Serve him a lesson to mind his own business. But that night, once it was well late, I slipped out of the flat and went back to find it.

He was twenty years old, from Harlow, and his ID card picture was shit.

He was shit, but for some reason, I spoke his name out loud for the dark and the rats:

"Zilvinas Gudeli."

That wasn’t a real name. Then and there, I swore to die rather than ever fancy a thick-necked wanker with a name that sounded like a spell from Supernatural.


	2. Chapter 2

One thing I knew: normal people don’t carry that much cash. Also, he had no credit cards. Besides the ID, this Zilvinas Gudeliunas character held a gym membership, useless bits of paper, and loads of cash.

I’d never seen so much money in one place. Over ￡800. Obviously, a dealer.

Dealing gear means owning weapons, which meant if I got caught with that wallet I’d become a memory. So, I did what any intelligent person would do.

First, I wrote an email to Chas.

\- Thanks, mate, but no thanks.

<3, 

Rourke

Then I deleted the entire thread of my correspondences with the old guy, shuddering that I’d ever considered his offer. Desperate times, you know.

There were so many products I wanted to review for my channel, but I couldn’t get a sponsorship until my subscriptions went up. I couldn’t get more subscribers until I’d reviewed more products. That Catch 22 shit was infuriating.

But, desperate times were over for me. That wallet was Christmas in April. I almost started believing in God that day, because this money was an answered prayer.

The second thing I did was pay cash for a train ticket to London where I treated myself to a manicure at this adorable boutique in Covent Garden. Then, I bought myself a very pretty ring. From there, I went to Charlotte Tilbury and lost time like a seizure victim.

Foundation, mascara, lip gloss, lipstick, eyeliner, eye shadow, primer. In the end, I boarded the train with three bags of high-end makeup. In fact, I was carrying so much that I forgot my rucksack on the train.

Here I was whistling, swinging my bags down the platform.

“Young person! Young person!”

This darling older gentleman was chasing after me, panting like a racehorse. For a moment, I thought to run away, but I had no reason to fear. He wasn’t, after all, a musclehead tattoo-addict.

(Later, I realized that the old man wasn’t sure whether to call me a girl or boy. Painted in all the samples, I resembled a clown more than either gender.)

"Your bag,” he said clutching his chest and delivering my rucksack.

The train doors closed and the poor, considerate idiot yelped as it drove away with all his belongings. (That sort of thing is why I don’t believe in God. Also, because of Anne Frank.)

Anyway, after that, guilt or decency sort of washed over me. All of a sudden, I wanted to do the right thing.

I should have got rid of the wallet the moment I’d emptied it, but I’d developed a mild obsession of staring at Zilvinas’ ID card.

I mean, he’s kind of gorgeous, isn’t he? Even in that shit picture, there’s something about him. The deep-set, intense eyes. Also, it was inexplicably hot knowing that he’d kill me with his bare hands if he caught me with his wallet.

In the tram, between the train station and home, I devised a plan to return it. The money was gone, but I could spare him the annoyance of replacing his ID. The easiest thing would be to toss it in the alley where he’d dropped it, but then, how could I be sure he got it.

It’s not like there were thirty pupils in our school named Gudeliunas. Naturally, I couldn’t hand over the wallet to his sister with all the cash missing, but I could ask someone where they lived and chuck it in a window.

Or, I could get creative.

***

Zaryana G. was an early subscriber to my channel. Unfortunately, that's no endorsement because she always looked a proper mess. I mean, she tried, but clearly hadn’t the slightest idea which hues were best for her skin. So, it was with a bit of charity and an ulterior motive that I approached her during a break at school.

“All right, Zara.”

Her eyes narrowed. It’s not like we were friends.

“Look,” I said. “I know you watch my channel.”

She glanced about like she was being accused of something naughty.

“I just got a sponsor.”

“Wow, really? Rourke, that’s brilliant.”

It was also a lie, as well you know.

“Yeah,” I went on. “But they require I do a few reviews with a variety of skin types.”

Zaryana’s skin type was dry and shit. No makeup company on earth would use her as a model, but her eyes lit up like a dirty street lamp.

Of course, I’d have to come to hers after school.

***

I entered the tiny, dim flat, marveling at the warm, meaty smell of the place. Zarya offered nibbles. I declined. (People get offended by my low tolerance for weird food, but I didn’t say it tasted crap. I just refused to taste it.)

Anyway, we were to set up on the sofa because Zarya wouldn’t let me in her room.

“Technically, I’m not even allowed to have lads over,” she said. “If my mum found out you was here, I’d be dead.”

“Over me?”

She shrugged. “You’ve got a cock, haven’t you?”

“Last I checked.”

“So, you could still knock me up.”

“Right.”

Zara brayed like a donkey. There was no chance in hell of me knocking her up, down or anywhere else.

“Why don’t you show me around?”

“This dump?”

“It’s all right,” I said.

It was a dump, but no worse than mine.

She led down the hall to the small, moldy loo. Next door was her mother’s room. Then, her little brothers’. I was allowed a peek into her pink hovel, the air foul with cheap perfume.

Finally, we came to a padlocked door. “And this is my stupid older brothers room.”

My pulse kicked up a River Dance. There were probably six-thousand guns in there, and a ton of coke or heroin or whatever.

“You know him?”

I took the question as code for do I buy gear from her brother and shook my head like a two-year-old.

“Well, you’re better off. Zilv is a complete arsehole.”

“Zilv?”

I could have guessed that was his nickname, but it tasted exotic and sweet and I never wanted it off my tongue.

Just like that, I felt the early winds of a stupid crush building in the pit of my gut like a monsoon.

Let me take the moment here to state how much I hate falling for anyone. The rapidly lowering IQ. The searing hormones. I become more of a dumb beast than myself. In fact, this entire wallet-returning fiasco was testosterone-fueled idiocy.

Why else would I be in this murderous dealer’s house, with his stolen wallet? I needed to get it done and get out.

I set up my tripod and my pallet. Once Zarya was seated on the sofa, I made her close her eyes and slathered more primer on her face than was reasonable or safe.

With his door locked, there’d be no slipping the wallet under Zilv’s bed. So, I did the next best thing and rolled it under the sofa. A ton of stress fell off with it. He’d find the thing eventual and assume he’d lost the money elsewhere.

I should have made up a reason to leave that instant, but Zarya needed help with her makeup game and it would be a good episode. I was in the middle of spreading her foundation when the front door opened. Zarya’s eyes popped. Then she sighed and sat back.

I, however, nearly shat myself, as Zilv walked in with some girl. A woman, I suppose. His age. She wasn’t gorgeous, but she was a girl: large-chested, dark-haired. Nothing like me, and clearly what he liked.

My heart imploded. Zilv’s spark of recognition was followed by his eyes narrowing to slits. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What’s it look like, genius?” Zara answered since I seemed incapable of speech.

I’d come in there thinking I was James Bond on a mission. Now I was face to face with Zilv and his girlfriend, I wanted to run away, and cry, and die - in any order.

He was so close, the beer, sweat, body spray and hatred coming off him in waves made me dizzy. He grabbed my shirt, lifted me to my toes and asked, “You seen my wallet?”

“Get off him.” Zarya shoved and Zilv dropped me.

“What, is he your boyfriend?” He chuckled at his own joke. “Have you seen it or not?”

“What? No.” Miraculously, I managed a tone between casual and contempt.

Zilv inhaled loudly and I braced myself for a slap.

Instead, he yelled at his sister. “You don’t know the rules, Zarya? No boys. What is all this shit?”

He picked up a jar, squinting between the product, and Zarya, and me. I held my breath awaiting a direct accusation.

“Leave him alone.” Zilv’s girlfriend snatched the container from his hand. “He’s really good. Look at this shadowing. God, you’re gifted, innit?”

I didn’t need her compliments. I also didn’t need what she said next:

“He should totally do my makeup for the wedding.”

What I needed was a big enough toilet to flush myself down.

Zilv shook his head and trudged into the kitchen. “Whatever.”


	3. Chapter 3

**ZILV**

 

I was just there to bring back Anna’s car. I walked into her place and there she is with Kelly and Julie, buzzing like a swarm of hornets.

Ever since the engagement, I never saw her alone anymore. She was always at the center of some group of girls. They all looked at me like the plumpest worm and Anna had just gotten there first. That was hardly a problem. Anna was getting my nanna’s ring, but her friends were happy to fuck around behind her back. 

The real problem was this kid. Anna was sat on her sofa with her head back like an empress with her throat exposed. That’s how much she trusted this utter stranger. He stood over her, doing something to her face. 

Anna reached out, red-clawed fingers grabbing at me. 

“Isn’t he doing a great job?” She said. “And he charges, like, nothing. You're going to totally be famous one day.” 

“Be still, love.” 

The kid glanced over at me, batted those wide blue eyes. 

By then, I’d learned his name from my sister. To her, Rourke was a YouTuber, a little mini-celebrity. In my mind, he was a nuisance. It was starting to do my head in, seeing this kid everywhere I turned. 

First, the fight in the alley. Then, he was doing my sister’s face - which no amount of makeup could fix.

The next thing I turn around, he’s at Anna’s plucking her eyebrows or whatever. It was the final damn straw. 

I was already losing my shit over the cash.

Then I had my mum’s daily chirping how ought to go to confession before the wedding. Every ten minutes a text from Anna showing flowers, or dresses, or some other bullshit. 

Anna: Do you like it? 

Me: Sure 

Anna: Would it kill you to show a little enthusiasm?

 Me: Sure! 

 

The fuck do I care about napkins? 

It was their wedding: Anna’s and my mum’s. They’d planned it, chosen the date, sent out the invitations. All I had to do was show up.

As a matter of fact, it was my mother who proposed. Last Christmas dinner, we were all sitting around. The kids had gone to bed. I was, perhaps, mildly pissed, but generally feeling good when mum stood up, slung her arm around Anna’s waist and made the announcement.

It happened so fast, I missed the details. One moment everyone has their glasses in the air. The next moment, they’re slapping me on the back, congratulating. I didn’t even know for what until one of my cousins asked if she was pregnant. 

I said, “What? Me mum?” 

So, it would be fair to say that I was under a bit of stress at the time. 

Ah yeah. And as always, there was Steve busting my balls at work. And my little dickhead brother getting himself locked up. It was a fucking bleak time, mate. I even thought of topping myself. 

But when I saw that angel boy working on Anna, I decided to kill him instead. Just bash his perfect face against a brick wall. It wouldn’t fix my life, but it would relieve some stress. 

When he was all done, he packed up and mumbled goodbye. Barely even looked my way. 

I counted to five, tossed Anna her keys and followed him out of the door. Caught him on the second floor and slammed his back against the wall. Adrenaline or whatever surged through me. It already felt great roughing him up. 

“Number one, you stay away from fucking sister.” I slammed him again. “Two, where’s my fucking wallet?” 

To be clear, I wasn’t going to kill him. Just beat him. Bloody, senseless.

It’s always better when they fight back. I’d expected some kind of fight. Kick me in the bollocks. Then I’d break his nose, which would also put me off thinking how fucking pretty he was. 

On the other hand, I could have been content with a long series of body shots. Leave the bruises on his middle. Erase the chance for questions at the school and visits from the fuzz. 

But there was no way I was going easy on him. Why should I? Because he was smaller, or younger? Because he looked like a little girl? Absolutely not. 

A few bruised ribs would jog his memory about my fucking wallet. Then I’d tell him to stay the hell away from my family. Away from my house. Away from Anna.

My right hand fit round his throat like it belonged there. He was such a tiny, thin, little thing. I could have squeezed the life right out of him. Watch the light fade from those bright blue eyes. I’d never killed anybody, but I’d heard stories. 

If I had the balls to end this kid, would they grow big enough to tell my mum I didn’t want to marry anyone, now or ever?

All of a sudden, I was breathing hard. Wondering how long it would take before he breathed his last.

My fingers were closing around his neck. So small and helpless. A bit more pressure, and a bit more. 

His lashed fluttered, eyes wide and glassy, lips open but taking only the wisp of breath I allowed. 

 

**ROURKE**

 

I’ve always got a plan. My idea with Zilv’s fiancés was to provide a cheap in-home salon for her and her ugly step-sister bridesmaids. I’d already quoted an unbeatable price for her wedding day and begun to plot how I could ruin her face. 

Not forever or anything. I’m not fucking crazy. I wasn’t going to put acid in her Olay. Just mix some semi-permanent blue ink into my kit. Give her the full-on Mel Gibson Braveheart look for the big day. That sort of thing.

I hadn’t expected Zilv to show up to her flat. That was a bonus. 

And then he was following me down the steps: double bonus. Choking me out. Triple bonus?

I could have defended myself: thrown a punch, screamed. Kicked his nuts into his guts. 

But at that moment, with Zilv’s hand around my throat, the last thing I wanted was for it to stop. The intense focus and the heat in his eyes, all for me. My body lit up like a Roman candle. I’d have rather him kill me than stop looking at me that way. 

I tried not to do what I did, but as I’ve said before, my body has a mind of its own when I’m into someone. My hips swung forward and I pressed my boner against his thigh.

So, I was basically humping this stranger like a randy little poodle, waiting for him to crush my larynx. But he dropped his hand, backed up and stuttered before he cleared his throat and said, “Jog on.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**ROURKE**

 

After every post, there’s always a bit of love, as well as the haters. (See the famous words of Taylor Swift.)

Mostly, it was comments directly to my channel, but also a few private emails.

Of course, there was another offer from Chas:

_ Dearest Rourke-angel, _

_ Beautiful work, as always, though I wouldn’t suggest any more unattractive models. I’m pleased to see you diversifying your pallet and would love to continue our conversation as to how each of our dreams can become reality. _

_ Thinking of you always. _

_ Yours,  _

_ Chas.  _

 

I rolled my eyes and groaned. The horny old bastard wouldn’t give up.

At least he didn’t send any pics like half these tiny-dicked losers. And it was loads more pleasant dealing with a respectful admirer than the religious fucks who believe makeup is only for girls. Still, I left up the troll comments along with the supporters, to show them that their hate didn’t matter.

So, while I was thinking how to respectfully decline Chas this time, Zarayana Gudelianas bounced over and hovered like a hot air balloon. She did look really bloated that day. And her makeup was a worse disaster than it’d ever been. I hoped she wasn’t telling people she’d gotten these tips from me.

Zarya peeked over my shoulder as if to spy on my phone. I hid it against my chest and she smiled.

“Sneaky.”

She nudged me with her elbow, grinning like a mad person.

That’s when I realized what had gone wrong. She’d developed a crush on me. That must be why Zilv had said to stay away.

She had to know it was a waste of her energy. There had to be guys who liked her. Or at least guys who liked girls.

But no one knows better than me the stupidity of the crush monster. It never finds the guy who likes you back. It always froths at the mouth over the last guy who’d ever want you.

It was a shame, but it meant I had to avoid Zara to keep from leading her on. “Look, I got to—“

“What’s going on with you and my brother?”

“What?”

“He keeps asking about you.”

“What?” Not the cleverest comeback, I admit.

“Tell the truth,” she said. “Are you two banging?”

I stood there in wide-mouthed awe for a moment while my thoughts collected themselves. Finally, a reasonable response fell into place.

“Would he be asking about me if we were banging?”

“Good point.”  Zarya nodded. “So, what the hell is going on?”

“He, um…”

Zilv was talking about me? Asking about me?

“Well, I’m doing Anna’s wedding make up. So, maybe he just wants to make sure I’m reputable, you know. That I know what I’m doing.”

Or he wants to murder me, which seemed more probable.

Zarya went on nodding, although she didn’t quite look convinced. “Why does he need to know where you live for that?”

I laughed and scratched my warm and now sweating neck. “So, he’ll know where to send the cheque, I guess.”

“You accept cheques?”

“Of course.”

Of course, I didn’t accept cheques. It wasn’t 1973.

“You have to admit, it would be pretty freaking hilarious,” Zarya leaned back on the wall. “He acts like this big, tough idiot, but deep down, he’s really just a puff.”

What does that even mean? Like a bloke can’t be tough and gay? What the hell did she know? Did she think that every gay man was prancing about doing makeup for clueless teenage girls? That was just me.

Most of the guys I’ve ever seen on porn are big, thick, tough-looking, and all inked-up. Basically, Zilv was a walking fantasy.

I came this close to telling her so and telling her off in the same breath when I realized what was going on with her awful makeup. She'd never learned to properly conceal a black eye.

“What the hell happened to your face?”

I knew the answer before she said it.

“Oh.” Her hand flew to her eye. “Your lover boy apparently lost a bunch of money, and everybody’s a suspect.”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

ZILV

I tossed my taser on the bed, untucked my shirt and kicked off my trainers. Another crap night at my shite job. I sat on the edge of the bed rubbing my eyes out. You know that feeling like they’ll never stop itching?

The sum total of everything was starting to take its toll. To top it all off, I couldn’t stop thinking about that little tart.

I’d slept with some girl that night. And some other one the night before. Sure, Anna knew about it, although she pretended not to. It was a good arrangement for us both. I was only ever seen in public with her. Meanwhile, I fucked whoever I wanted.

I’d never done a bloke before. It might have crossed my mind before Rourke. But now it wouldn’t cross.

It just stayed there in the middle of my brain like I didn’t have other shit to deal with.

I wished I’d never met him. I fantasized about snuffing him. It’d be easy enough. Small as he was, I could turn up my taser and zap him to death. Or snap that little neck, or douse his head in a toilet. It didn’t have to be messy. I just wanted him gone.

My fucking sister made it worse, turning me on to his YouTube channel. There he sat, untouchable behind the screen, chirping on about fucking makeup, with his golden curls hanging over those big blue eyes. Couple of times, I suffocated my phone. Held the pillow over it and pretended I was smothering him.

Other times, I’d mute the sound and beat off. The soundtrack in my head was him begging for it. For my cum. Begging to taste it. For a belly full of my seed.

I showered and laid in bed, but I couldn’t fall asleep.

That fucking kid, and his fucking mouth, and that hungry doe expression on his face when I choked him. It was time to do something about it.

 

 **ROURKE**  

Someone was knocking on the door. That late, it could only be Andy next door bringing back my nan’s cat. So I opened without looking, and my heart stopped. It literally hurt. I may have screamed. I don’t know anymore.

I tried to slam it shut, but Zilv stuck his hand in the way.

“Ow! Fuck, you little fucker.”

He gave one firm shove and knocked me onto the floor.

I crab-walked a few feet as he entered, cradling his fingers. Then I flipped over and dashed to my room. It was like being in a Jack Nicholson film. I closed my door and locked it, pulse going insane. For safe measure, I slid my desk chair in front of it and backed away.

I was on the fourth floor. Not like I could go out of a window.

Zilv knocked and I jumped. I threw my stuffed bear at the door and shouted, “You can’t be here.”

You have to understand, as hot as he was, I wasn’t ready to die. The hottest man on earth was at my flat ready to kill me. Imagine Chris Hemsworth comes to your place and holds a gun to your head. It’s still not a good situation.

“Listen, I just want to talk to you.”

“I don’t have your money, all right?”

There was nothing in my room to use as a weapon. Even my lamp was one of those useless paper things from Ikea. My best bet would be to let him in, leap on his back and wrap the cord round his neck. I’d seen that in some episode of some show how this girl managed to thwart an attacker twice her size. I could do it.

“Rourke, isn’t it?”

“I’m calling the police.” I grabbed my fucking lantern.

“Listen, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, because I apparently I’m an idiot. “You let me in, let me look around. If I don’t find it, I’ll leave. Never bother you again. Or, you can call the fuzz now and I’ll get you some other time.”

In other words, I was damned regardless.

“I just need to see for myself.”

 

 **Z** ILV

For some reason, he was holding one of them Chinese lights.

I must have wakened him. There were fucking ice cream cones all over his sleep pants. His hair was a complete mess. Just all over the place. I’d never seen anything so cute in all my life. I just want to pin him to the bed and rape his little face.

He dropped the light and crossed his skinny arms, stepping aside so I could “search.”

“You’re not going to find anything.”

I’d never seen so much makeup in my life. Anna was a hound for the stuff. So was Zarya. Here was another prissy princess. All I needed in my life.

But Rourke wasn’t going to be in my life. I was going to come down his throat and that was going to be the end of it. The only question was: attack or seduce.

I like busty girls, curvy, thick ones like what worked down at the club. Like those Kardashian girls: powpow and bam in the back.Rourke was small, but also a lad. I’d seen him take a punch, so I knew he wasn’t the complete sissy he looked to be.

“I thought you were looking for your money,” he said, taking a step back.

I’d been staring. At that point, I grabbed the center of his shirt. “What if it’s on you?”

“What?”

“The cash. What if you’ve got it in here?” I patted him down like I’d do at the club.

The flanks, then the center of his shirt and back. I turned him round, rougher than need be, but he didn’t resist. I knelt and frisked his legs. His adorable little boner.

That was the end of it for me. I could end the story there.

I shoved him and said, “On your knees."

“I don’t have your money.”

“I don’t fucking believe you.” In that moment, I couldn’t have cared less if I never saw that cash again. “Get on your fucking knees before I crack your skull.”

I wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, used the other on his shoulder to put him down. He hardly resisted at all. At first.

 

**ROURKE**

What can I say? You’ve seen the videos. I didn’t know exactly where his family was from, but for all I knew, he wanted me to kneel so he could decapitate me.

Instinct kicked in. I headbutted his crotch and he let me go.

“You fucking little…”

I leapt onto my bed to get away from his grabbing hands. This beast was going to batter me in my own bedroom over money I’d already spent. It was justice, I suppose, but I was too young to die. So, I fought like an insane fucking cat.

I tossed books at his head, hurled my music box. Then I ran for the door.

Zilv caught me round my middle, tossed me onto on my back the bed and pinned my arms at my sides. I spat. He hardly blinked.

“You going to quit fighting?”

That giant monster was straddling my chest, squeezing my chin. Still, I growled and tried to buck him.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

“Get off me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, all right?”

“You said that before.”

“And have I hurt you?” He asked. “You, on the other hand, have crushed my fingers, rammed my nuts and nearly scratched out my eyeballs.”

“You said you would search for the money and leave.”

“I believe you.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. When I stopped struggling, he dismounted and let me slip to the floor with my legs crossed, heart pounding and my veins flashing hot like somebody’s menopausal aunt.

“Then what do you want?”

The answer was already plain with his bulge eye level. But if there was any confusion, Zilv grabbed the back of my head and mushed my face into it like a fucking Viking.

I yanked away and he slapped me hard enough to make my ear ring.

“I want you to suck my cock.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why the fuck should I?”

“Because you want to.”

I wasn’t going to let some guy tell me what I wanted, even if he was right. “Fuck you.”

I tried to stand, but Zilv knocked me back onto my ass.

“Rourke, don’t make me angry.”

“What are you, the Incredible Hulk?”

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me onto my knees. He pressed my face into his crotch again. “Do you want this or not?”

“Fuck off.”

Let me explain.

I was fifteen years old. I’d never had a cock in my face. This guy was huge. It was safe to assume his prick was no different. Of course, I fucking wanted it, but I was mortified that I’d do something wrong and he wouldn’t like it. Or that I wouldn’t like it nearly as much as I’d thought I would.

Also, the situation was incredibly hot, but it wasn’t the satin pillows and red roses little girls dream about for their first time.

Anyway, Zilv finally let me go and apologized. As he adjusted himself, mumbling, “You won’t tell Anna about this?”

“No.”

“Or Zarya.”

I shook my head.

He righted my chair on his way out of the door.

And that was that. I wouldn’t see him again until the wedding. It would be like it never happened.

 

 

ZILV

“Don’t go.”

Rourke fell to his knees and licked his lips.

This kid was toying with me. Which was fine, because I was sure as fuck going to play with him.

I approached him slow and careful, like the feral little beastie he was. When I was close enough, I gripped the back of his skull and mashed my meat into his sweet, little face. He pushed against my thighs and came up, gasping for air.

“Get me out.”

He stared like he’d gone dumb, so I did it myself. He watched me stroke with a look on his face somewhere between awe and horror.

I’d never kissed a boy. Turns out, it’s not much different. Pretty eyes are pretty eyes. And this lad had the dreamiest pair of bright-wide blues I’d ever seen. His lips were soft and toothpasty.

I held his chin and slid the tip of my cock over his lovely pink mouth.

“You want it?”

“Yes.”

“You do, don’t you?”

“Yes, please,” he whispered.

“Say it.”

“Zilv, I’d like to have it, please.”

“Have what?”

“What else?” Rourke said. “Your cock, please. Sir.”

It was like I caught fire.

Back then, I was lucky if anyone ever spoke my name. At home, I was mostly “arsehole.” They called me “wanker” at work.

Even though I was twenty years old and practically a kid myself, this little boy politely asking for my cock nearly made me blow all over his face.

 

 **ROURKE**  

When I was a kid, I used to get pretty dirty with a banana or a banger. My mother would turn bright red and threaten to strangle me.

But this was not the same.

I’ve seen enough porn that I should have known to brace for it. If you’ve never, I can tell you that sucking cock is so much more than that face-full feeling of getting it on with a popsicle. First of all, Zilv was bigger than any food I’d ever played with. He was warm and alive and he smelled heavenly.

Then he was shoving to the back of my throat making me gag horribly.

My face flushed as I pulled away to breathe, and for fear I’d become the boy who threw up all over Zilv’s beautiful thick cock.

Thank God, that did not happen.

“I’m sorry.” I coughed. “I’m so sorry.”

It was awful and wonderful to have Zilv taking his pleasure from me, his fingers tight in my hair and on my face.

Makeup was brilliant. YouTube was cool.

My life’s purpose was to worship Zilv. I was born to give in to his strength and his will.

To be whatever he wanted.

 

 

ZILV

  
****

I wouldn’t have believed the kid if he had told me it was his first time. I found that out much later, or else I would have done things differently.

I’d fucked a fair few slags in my day, but I was never so rough with any of them. The louder he whimpered, the harder I tore into him. Tears rained from his eyes and I rammed his face like he was made of plastic.

Within a few short minutes, I was pinching my eyes tight, afraid I was already going to blow.

Out of nowhere came this voice like a sick mouse calling through a bullhorn, “Roar-uck. Roar-uck!”

He pulled off and wiped his face. Trembling like a spring leaf in a storm. “My nan. I need to…”

Nan could fucking well wait until I blew my load down her grandson’s throat, couldn’t she?

But Rourke was already on his feet. I could have forced him and finished, but I let him go.

He turned with a hand on the doorframe and asked, “Will you wait?”

I didn’t answer.

But I did wait until his spit was dried off my cock and I'd gone soft. Then, I suppose enough blood went back to my brain to realize I had no business there in the first place.


	6. Chapter 6

ROURKE

I returned to my room, stood in the centre of the floor and refused to cry. After all, what would that help?

I was gutted, but it was no surprise that Zilv had gone. The shock was that he ever showed up. Still, without any idea how long ago he’d left, I ran out after him. In my pyjamas and fluffy slippers.

I flopped down the corridor, all the way to the patch of dirt outside of my block of flats. He was long gone. Still, I called after him, like the pitiful mess that I was. The only response was from the neighbourhood cats, also screeching for lost love.

Of course, I was such a brainless idiot that I’d forgotten my key. It took about an hour for my nan to buzz me up.

By that point, I was ready for the knackers yard. All I wanted was to sleep and forget. But when I returned to my room, I froze at the door. Zilv hadn’t left a trace. My room was always orderly, but we'd made quite a mess in the fray.  
That animal had tidied the bed, righted books on the shelves, picked up papers so it looked like he’d never been there. It was as if I’d imagined the entire thing.

The nerve of that bastard to break into my life, be my first (incomplete) hook up, and then vanish like a ringwraith. Sleep was no longer a possibility with my room haunted by his invisible presence.

So, I retreated to the sitting room and poured a mug of my nan’s Zinfandel. She'd be riled if I didn't leave at least that much for her breakfast drink.

Then, I turned the bottle up to my head. I’d demolished the entire thing before I began to think clearly. Instinctively, everyone knows, the wise thing would have been to leave Zilv alone. He was a curious, straight guy weeks before his wedding. Who could even blame him?

I didn’t blame him. I wanted him and hated him. And I knew I’d never-ever have him. If it weren’t for that stupid wedding, I’d never even see him again.

That was when I scrambled to my room and thumbed in a text for Anna.

ME - Fuck you and your wedding.

The moment I pushed SEND a cool rush of accomplishment lit up my veins. It felt so good, I craved another hit. So, I phoned the worst ASBO I knew. It was well after midnight, but Marcus picked up on the second ring.

“Oi, twat.”

“Listen, I need you to do something for me,” I, no doubt, slurred.

“You want my hot, sticky load.”

I mimed gagging myself with a finger. Out loud, I said, "Ha."

“You did promise.”

For the record, I did not ever promise to even look at his cock. Marcus seemed to believe that his constant asking constituted an oath on my part. On this particular occasion, I did not point that out, nor did I remind him that it was never going to occur. I needed his good graces, such as they were. Marcus Oaks was a paragon of juvenile delinquency and precisely the sort of future-prison resident for the task.

“Look, there’s a wedding coming up. I need you to go bash it.”

“Bash a wedding?”

Not exactly mechanical engineering material, that one. “That’s what I said.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m going to pay you.” Muddled as I was by drink, a flashy genius lightbulb flicked on in my head. “Shit, no. It can’t be you. You’ll have to find someone else to do it.”

“Someone else?”

“Yes, Marcus. Fucking keep up.” This was really my best option? “Zarya G. Is going to be there.”

“Zarya’s a mate.”

“Christ. That’s my point. If she sees you, she can tell the fuzz who it was.”

“So, you’re saying I should get someone else to go and bust up this wedding?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose to keep from screaming. Once it finally sunk into his swampy brain, Marcus was on board as I knew he'd be. I promised to text date, time and address as soon as we hung up.

“So, who am I supposed to get?”

“I don’t know. Some thugs like you.”

“Oh. Yeah. All right.” He was the sort of person, you could almost hear the rocks rattling in his head when he nodded. “You know, you wouldn’t even have to pay if you’d —”

I hung up and laid out on the sofa to pass out.

 

ZILV

The good thing about my job was that I got stand outside where I could feel the bass in my teeth instead of in my bones. After 10 hours, even the best music is shite. A lot of what the DJ spun at my club was shite.

I say 'my club' but it definitely was not. You wouldn’t have known that to ask my fiancé. Anna had a habit of showing up and expecting me to let her in free at any time, even though know she knew it was against one of the few rules:

No drinks  
No fags  
No special treatment for friends and family

So, I stood there with my arms folded, looking mean. According to the rules, I didn’t drink at the door. I didn’t smoke at the door.  
What was I supposed to do when Anna bounced up with four other birds behind her. I rolled my eyes as she gripped my shirt and pulled me down into a rum-flavoured kiss.

“I can’t, sweetie. You know that" I said. "Not until at least three people leave.”

“Come on. What are they going to do to you, versus what am I going to do for you?”

She waggled her eyebrows and I sighed as they giggled and wiggled past. It was either that or prolong a conversation that would have the same end.

Less than five minutes later, Karlo came out, poked one of his pointy fingers in my shoulder blade and shouted, “What exactly is your problem, dickhead?”

This bloke was eight inches smaller, twenty years older, and a few million pounds richer than me. All these figures flashed through my head as his voice grew higher and louder. People in the line were turning to look and all I could, reasonably, do was chew my tongue and keep my arms folded.

“Are you unable to count? Is that the problem? Too much fluff in there?”

He reached up and plucked my skull.

This is the point when the figures in my head turned to how many years I’d lose behind bars if I bashed his brains against the steel door of his club.

“If you want to keep your job, you will go in there, find the ones without stamps and put them the fuck out. Not a difficult task. No reading involved.”

Rather than reply, I wiped my mouth, literally holding the swear words behind my clamped teeth.

“Well, what the fuck are you waiting for? Go!”

“It’s my fiancé.”

“What?”

I had spoken too quietly the first time. Even then, the words grated my throat on their way out. I cleared my throat and tried again:

“It’s my… It’s my girl. I can’t just kick her out.”

Karlo laugh was a bitter, hollow bark, rare as his smile.

“Well, if she’s your woman she ought to do like you say and hit the fucking road. Or else you grab her ponytail and drag the ugly cow out.” His finger was a centimetre from my nose. “And I swear to God, it happens again, you can go back to scraping plates at Georgio’s. Got it?”

I had it.  
All that I could take.  
Right up the fucking nose.

As I pushed my way through the crowd, it became clearer and clearer what I needed to do. What I’d planned to do all along. It was time, even if it required a bit of improvisation.

It was easy enough to find Anna and her friends. They were the rowdiest, skankiest girls in the lot. They were already half-drunk when they entered. Now, they were a bunch of sweaty slags rubbing their arses on whatever dick was nearest.

I grabbed her arm, yanked her close enough so I didn’t have to yell to be heard.

“Listen, I need them all out of here.”

“What?”

“Your girls,” I said. “They’ve got to go.

“Go where?” She barely opened her eyes.

“Home. I don’t care. They just can’t be here. Get them to leave. It’s against the fire code.”

Her face curled like she lacked the English vocabulary to process what I was saying. It was actually perfect.

“Then, I need you to go into the bathroom," I said. "Wait thirty minutes and then, meet me in the alley.”

“What are we going to do?” The wicked grin that bloomed across her face was the only reason I ever thought I’d loved her.

“Do you understand?”

Anna nodded, but I made her repeat it all back to be sure. I pulled her close, ran my hands down every curve, firmly, slowly. While I squeezed Anna’s juicy ass, I reached into her purse and swiped the car keys. There would have been a final kiss, as well, if her mouth didn’t smell like an exhaust pipe.


	7. Chapter 7

  
ZILV

It was the single stupidest thing I could have done. Every minute mattered. I should have been flying out of town.

What good could come of it? The most I could do was fuck the lad as a going away present for myself. But there I was, sitting outside of his block of flats. I’d been there just the night before and it had come to nothing. Maybe I just want to go up and get the rest of my blowjob.

For whatever reason, I parked Anna’s car, checked my reflection and jogged all the way up to Rourke’s door.

  
ROURKE

Nan and I were on the sofa, very merrily sipping our wine from coffee cups. Even despite my brilliant orchestrations for the wedding, I’d done a fair bit of crying. It’s very difficult not to feel shit when some male uses your body and throws you away. But if boys are toxic, alcohol is the sweet nectar of wisdom.

But, there was no time for bawling my eyes out while Eastenders was on.

I could not imagine who would be knocking on the door, but I’d learned a valuable lesson the night before. This time I looked through the peephole. At the sight of Zilv, a cruel heat burst in my chest.

Without opening, I called out, “What do you want?”

  
ZILV

Not exactly the warm welcome I’d hoped for. I thought he’d be chuffed to see me, but I had to beg and plead for him to let me in. When Rourke finally unbolted the door, he left it swinging open and walked away.

I hovered there for a moment as he flounced down on a ratty sofa with his legs curled behind him. He snatched a bottle from the old woman in a dressing gown and hair rollers and drank a long slog. His nan blinked at me.

Not what I’d come for. And if Rourke was going to be a bitch, I could as easily have walked out, before his nan said, “Well, sit down, young man. You’re making me nervous.”

If I’d been thinking clearly, I’d have excused myself and left. I had no business there in the first place. This was the second place. I was back with no purpose.

She patted the space beside her and I settled on the edge of the couch with Rourke on her far side, staring at the screen.

“He’s a handsome lad, isn’t he?”

Rourke grunted like a little piglet.

The old woman turned up a gnarled claw for my hand. When I gave over, she sucked her tongue and said, “Look at your fingers, dear.”

She leaned forward close enough to kiss my hand.

“Why on earth have you marked up your skin?”

I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say.

“Well, then," she said. "What does it all mean?”

Her tone was more curious than disgust, so I began explaining my tattoos. “Well, across the fingers, it says ‘Live’ and that, of course, is a tiger.”

I glanced up and Rourke looked back at the telly as if he hadn’t been listening.

“So,” Nan curled up her nose. “You plan to Live Fast and die young. Is that what the fingers are all about?”  
  
“I don’t know, ma’am. That used to be the plan.”  
  
“Well…” she sucked on her gums. “And what is that, rotting flesh on the other hand?”

“It’s actually covering a burn. It was my first.”

Rourke finally stopped pretending not to care. He watched as I stroked the damaged skin beneath the art.

“So, will you have more of those done?” Nan asked.

“Most likely, yes,” I said. “I rather enjoy it.”

“And will Rourke be having them?”

We answered, “No.” in unison.

I already knew, if he were mine, I’d never allow that lovely, pale skin to be marked in any way. Unless it was by my mouth, or my hand, or a belt, or a whip.

“Tell me this, Roar-uck, is he kind to you?” Nan asked. “Are you kind to my lad?”

Rourke's eyes were wide and bright like a spring morning.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.  
  
“Liar.”  
  
Rourke’s nan elbowed him and he yelped.  
  
“And you, too,” she said. “You be respectful.”  
  
“I’m always respectful.”  
  
I scoffed and he stuck out his tongue.

“All right. Off with youse.” Nan waved us away like a pair of meddlesome birds. “And don’t make too much noise. Don’t want to hear from the neighbours.”

Rourke marched to his bedroom. I followed. He closed the door and stood there, chewing his lip.

I sat on the corner of his bed and said, “I think I have her blessing,”

“To do what?”

 

ROURKE  
  
Zilv held out a hand.

My temperature was steadily rising again. I knew why he was there: to torture me. Like my mum always said, 'men are cruel creatures who get off on abusing others.' Even knowing his intentions, I stepped forward between his knees. He could use me until I was shrivelled, crushed and discarded like an empty juice box.  
  
His fingers trickled down my sides. He reached up and touched my face. Then, he gave me a light slap. I hadn’t expected it. Or for my blood to flare even hotter.  
  
“Do you like that?”  
  
I nodded.  
  
“Speak."  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Yes, what?”  
  
I paused to breathe. I wasn’t refusing. The air was thick. My legs were weak. Zilv grabbed my hair and pulled me to my knees.  
  
“Yes, sir. I like it, sir.”  
  
He slapped me again. His huge, warm hands covered my ears while his tongue snaked between my teeth. He licked the roof of my mouth and caressed my hair - a dizzying balance of aggression and affection. All I could do was rest my elbows on his lap and give myself over to it.  
  
“You’re a beautiful boy, you know that?”  
  
Of course, I knew it. I’d heard it all my life from my mum’s friends. And Nan’s friends. Also from old men like Chas, who’d hand me a lolly and pat my head.

But I’d never heard those words from someone like Zilv. A strong, young, beautiful man himself. He was a god, of sorts. Impossible, but real. Sitting on my bed, lavishing me with his heaven-bright attention.

Zilv opened his fly, flooding my senses with his glorious sight and scent as he stroked himself hard.  
  
The thing is, I never really lacked basic confidence, but I’d always assumed that anyone who looked like Zilv would think me an unworthy twink. Even if he thought so again later, at that moment, he was saying those words and looking at me like he meant them.

At least, I think that’s why I burst into an ill-timed, inexplicable fit. There was nothing I could do to stop my crocodile tears dripped all over his magnificent cock.  
  
“What? What is it?” He held my chin. “You don’t have to, you know? I’m not here to make you.”

“I’m sorry.”

I tried to look away, but he wouldn’t have it.  
  
“For what? Why’re you sorry? Why the hell are you crying, Rourke? I haven’t even done anything.”  
  
He was beginning to lose his temper with me. I was going to ruin everything again.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” I wailed.  
  
“You’re shitting me, right?”

I dropped my stupid hot face in my palms.

Zilv laughed. “Look at your eyes. And your smile. And God, those hands. Look at your fucking hands. And you're calling me perfect?”  
  
He peeled my hands from my face which made me cry even louder because I was wearing a ring I’d bought with money I'd stolen from him. Zilv was only kissing my fingertips, murmuring how lovely I was because he didn’t know me.  
  
I wiped at the tears and snot and more would flow. He squinted and turned up his nose, but I couldn’t make it stop. Just when I was sure he’d run for the hills, Zilv kicked off his shoes, scooted up my bed and gestured for me to join him.  
  
My chest was tight, throat burning as I crawled up alongside him, buried my face in his chest and cried like an idiot baby.

  
ZILV  
  
All these years later, I still don’t know why he was crying. I assumed he’d been fiddled with as a child and that he was scared of cocks.

Sure, I could have been the arsehole and push him for a blowjob anyway. He'd done it before.

But all I wanted to do was lay there, cuddle him up, rubbing my mouth over his soft hair, stroking his spindly little ribs.

Did I want to fuck him? Sure. But it was honestly okay if I didn’t.

Everyone I knew was Chavs and cunts. In my neighbourhood, we had to be to survive. Anna probably hadn’t cried since she was on the tit.

That night with Rourke was the first time anybody cried in my arms. I think he rather put a crack in my heart. Made me feel helpless and small, too. All I could think to do was whisper he’d be all right.

Eventually, he either believed me or he’d cried himself down to sad little hiccups and apologies. When he tried to touch my cock I brushed away his hand.

“Stop. Just… Forget it, all right.” I pulled him in tighter. "Just come here.”

I don’t know how long we lay there. He might have fallen asleep at some point. It occurred to me that I was supposed to be driving away and not laying in bed, but how was I going to just get up and leave him like that?

From time to time, Rourke would still sniffle, but he was plucking at my shirt, slipping betwixt the buttons to play with my nipple. When it tickled I caught his wrist and pretended to eat the naughty little fingers.

“You all better?”

He nodded.

“Good,” I said. “Listen, your nan’s all right?”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“But why aren’t you with your parents?”

Rourke sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, huddled up like a turtle. When he shrugged, I figured that would be the end of it. It wasn’t my place to ask.

“A few years ago, my mum started seeing this guy,” he spoke just loud enough to hear him. “Turned out he was pretty religious. And I’m… well, you know. I’m me.”

I didn’t want to know any more.

“If they split up, I guess I’ll go back with her.”

“Why? She sounds like a proper bitch.”

He shrugged. “She’s not bad. Just lonely, like everybody else.”

I traced a finger down his arm and asked, “How can you ever be lonely, pretty as you are? Haven’t you got a boyfriend?”

 

ROURKE

I knew what he was saying. The message was loud and clear.  
Zilv was clarifying that all this niceness didn’t make him my boyfriend. I’d never be seen with him in public. He’d never want anyone to know he’d been here with me. This was experimentation.  
Fine.  
I’d enjoy what I could get.

How could I complain about this splendid specimen of a man stretched out on my bed?

I turned to face him and make the very best of whatever it was, for however long I had him.

“Had you ever kissed a lad?”

He smiled and touched my face. “Only you.”

“Is it awful?”  
  
“Have I run away?” He brushed the curls from my forehead, but they fell back in place. “No, it’s nice. You’re nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not nice.”

“Sure, you are,” he said.

I shook my head and held my wrist to my nose, begging my eyes not to start up again.

Zilv sat up next to me, rubbing my shoulders. “Don’t start, all right. Should I leave?”

“No. Please, don’t. “

Right then, I knew I should tell him about the money, but I couldn’t make my mouth form the words.

Zilv grabbed round the back of my neck. “You are a beautiful, nice, sweet, little boy and I like you.”  
  
“You liar.”

“Stop calling me a liar, alright,” he said, dropping his hand. “If there’s one thing I don’t do it’s lie. Can’t stand it. If I didn’t like you I wouldn’t be here. I didn’t say goodbye to any of the rest of them.”

“What do you mean goodbye?”

“What’s it usually mean?”

Leaving? How could he be leaving? My heart sank and got tangled in my intestines.

“Is it because of me?”

Zilv chuckled and tweaked my arm. “No, you vain little shit. I’ve been planning it a while. Just some things feel through and…”

Did it even matter? It wasn’t like I could have him if he stayed. This was our one night together. I squeezed him close and may, or may not have wiped snot on his shirt.

“I thought you were just here to get off,” I said.  
  
“Is that’s what’s happened? Have I gotten off? Is that what this is?”  
  
That was a good point. Also, if Zilv was leaving, this was my only chance. It was time to live out all my fantasies with him. I sat up and straddled his chest.  
  
His smile soured as he touched my cheek. “Listen, Rourke, if every fucking detail about my life was different, maybe I’d take you out for a drink.”  
  
“I’m not old enough to drink in public anyway.”  
  
“You’re not old enough for a beer?”  
  
I shook my head.

“So, if I were to get off with you, that would also be illegal?”  
  
“Age is just a number.”  
  
“How old are you, then?”  
  
"Fifteen."

“Jesus.” Zilv winced and wiped his face. “Serves me right.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, it’s time for me to go.”

When I refused to move, he knocked me aside onto the mattress, put on his shoes and left without another word.

 


	8. Chapter 8

ROURKE

I sat in the center of my bed, stunned. Just like that, my little fairy tale was over. Prince Charming was leaving town and all I’d have left was a story no one would believe.

All it took was one deep breath to realize that it was complete bullshit. The least I could do was give Zilv hell for deserting Anna. Not like I gave two shits about her, but she was a person. Standing her up at the altar was bullocks.

And maybe all I really wanted was another five minutes with him.

Nan had fallen asleep with the telly on. She wouldn’t miss the bottle, so I snatched it from the coffee table, looped my key around my neck and dashed after Zilv.

He was halfway across the patch of dirt outside the concrete block I once called home.

I yelled, “Oi!”

He stopped, giving me enough time to run over and grab his arm. I become distracted by how solid he felt before he jerked away from me.

“There’s nothing else to say, Rourke. Go inside.”

“I’m not going inside,” I said. “You know, you’re a right selfish prick.”

He sucked his teeth but didn’t walk away or hit me.

“She might be a twat, but she loves you, Anna does. And just deserting her like this, well, it’s… it’s fucked up. You’re just a fucked up coward running from your problems.”

I pointed the neck of the bottle at him for emphasis. He ripped it from my hand and tossed it in the dirt.

“You shouldn’t be drinking.”

“You can't tell me what to do.”

He turned to walk away and I may have gone a bit psycho. I leapt onto his back, wrapped my arms around his neck, screaming. Zilv spun in circles, trying to shake me off. I clung tighter.

“Jesus Christ, Rourke. Get off me!”

“You can’t just leave.”

I clawed at his face and held on, but within a moment, Zilv had flipped me over his shoulder onto the ground. The breath wheezed out of my lungs and before I could recover enough to continue my attack, he’d pinned my arms at my sides, sitting on my legs to stop the kicking.

“Why won’t you fucking behave, you lunatic?”

I yelled at the top of my lungs, bucking to get free so I could scratch or bite the hell out of him.

“Beat his little ass.”

I froze. Zilv turned to see who’d spoken.

Three men were gathered round us, casting long shadows in the streetlights. One of their fags glowed orange in the dark and then he flicked it over my head.

Zilv glanced down at me, made some sort of expression I didn’t understand.

He whispered, “Keep your mouth shut.”

Then he stood and started speaking in a language that sounded like goats spitting at each other.

 

ZILV

“So, you heard what that little faggot did, yeah?”

That word has always grated me, in any language. It didn’t like it when my father said it, and I certainly didn’t appreciate it spat out of Dov Kanegis’ crooked mouth.

The first time met Dov, I knew the only way to win a fight with a bloke like that is to be on his side. All of Anna’s brothers could throw fists and profanity hard enough to blur.

Even as scrappy and nuts as Rourke was, he was no match for those boys.

They were clearly pissed at him, but I didn’t know why. I also couldn’t risk a wink to let Rourke know I’d get him out of it. I wasn’t even sure yet how.

I turned to face Dov and said, “Yeah, he’s a right little piece of shit.”

Without warning, Darius, the runty one, let loose a kick. I didn’t see where it landed, but I heard it connect. Rourke groaned and curled up like an armadillo.

“Oi!”

I shoved Darius and stood between them. Dov narrowed his eyes like he was going to give me Hell. Then he nodded.

“Zilv’s right. This one’s his.”

What the fuck did Rourke do to these guys? Without a scope of the crime, I wouldn't know how severe the punishment should be. Were they there to scare or collect?

“Youse can go on. I’ll take care of it,” I said, already knowing how that would turn out.

“Yeah, well,” Dov ran a hand over his helmet hair. “We didn’t come all the way down here not to at least watch.”

The middle one, Lukas, was the most reasonable of the bunch - least likely to shiv a bloke for the wrong look. He’s the one who picked Rourke up and held his arms behind him. The kid looked at me, blue eyes wide with fright. He was fucking well right to be scared. These three were like the weather - unpredictable, but mostly always shite.

Dov bared his teeth, I think, smiling. “Why ain’t you working tonight?”

Obviously, he hadn’t heard from Anna about me standing her up in the alley behind the club. Honestly, I assumed she’d go take a piss and pass out on the toilet. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Was working,” I said and then cast a long bet. “Shift’s done.”

He nodded and glared at Rourke.

I made a laugh I hoped sounded somewhat real. “So, youse were going to kill this little faggot, huh?”

Saying that word was like drinking gasoline.

“Not kill him,” Dov said and spat.

He was there for carnage and getting impatient. If I didn’t do something, he would. Rourke was struggling to get away from Lukas, calling him names. He twisted, kicked him in the shin and ran. He’d made it a few feet before Darius shoved him to his face and kneeled on his back.

Before it could go any further, I yanked Darius aside, flipped Rourke onto his back and punched him in the face.

Not the nose or the mouth, nowhere near his eyes. Square in the jaw, where it would hurt and he might bite the flesh on the inside, but there'd be no permanent damage.

"Ow, you fucking--"

"I said to shut it."  I gave him a matching one on the other side for the sake of our audience.

Then I stepped back, heart near to bursting in my chest as Rourke curled up again, clutching his face while the lads laughed their heads off.

“Look at him.” Lukas howled and said in English, “He’s going to fucking cry.”

Darius started for Rourke. I held him back and said, “It’s enough.”

Again, Dov nodded.

“Well, then, we’ll see you at the wedding, cocksucker.”

Darius and Lukas strode away laughing with their arms on each others’ shoulders. Dov invited me for a drink. I don’t even remember what excuse I made up. Doc laughed and pointed at Rourke who was running back toward his building.

I stood there in suspended motion.

The Kanegis boys all had their backs turned, walking away. I could wait until they were out of sight and risk Rourke never letting me back into his flat again. Or I could chase him down now before he got inside and called the fuzz. I didn’t need any more trouble with the fucking cops, but the last thing I wanted was for him to tell his nan I hit him.

I caught his arm before he could touch the intercom. Rourke swung round and punched me in the chest. It barely stung, but I was still shaky from the whole thing and stumbled back. He dashed past me again, went straight for the bottle he’d had earlier and smashed it against the ground.

I held up my hands up for peace. “I’m sorry, all right?”

He swung right at my chest and would have taken a chunk if I hadn’t jumped back.

“Dammit, Rourke. Put that down. Let me have a look at your face.”

He spat out a thick wad of blood and sliced at me again. That’s when I made an executive decision. At the club, drunken bastards and shattered bottles were a weekly occurrence. The next time Rourke made a swipe, I grabbed his arm, trapped it betwixt under mine and chopped down on his elbow.

He wailed and dropped the bottle.

“Listen, I’m sorry.”

I must have softened my hold because he pulled away and landed on his ass in the shattered glass.

“Jesus, don’t move.” I leaned low to offer a hand.

The little fucker kicked me in the nose and yelled, “Fuck you.”

He stood, but then staggered from the sight of his red hands. Blood trickled down his chin and nightshirt. He looked a fucking fright, but he still wouldn’t let me touch him.

“I should have let them have you, loony bitch.”

“I’m loony,” he shrieked. “Look what you did to me?”

My nose was bleeding too, but again, I held out my hands like I was taming a young tiger.

“Who the hell are they?” Rourke shouted. “Russian mafia?”

“Russian? No. And not mafia. They’re fucking street kids.”

“What did they say?”

I stopped to replay the whole conversation in my head. It was actually stupid to still be outside. They could always come back for more if they got bored. “What did you do to Anna?”

“I said… I told her I couldn’t do her make up for the wedding.”

“Well…” I wiped the blood from my face with my shirt. “They said they weren’t here to kill ya.”

“That’s good, right?”

“No.”

One thing I can say for Rourke, he’s a bright little bugger. It didn’t take long for it to sink in. He began searching the lot, in case they’d returned.

“The Kanegis family is —”

“What? Kanegis?” He was proper cowering at this point. “What do they want with me?”

“They’re Anna’s brothers.”

“What? No. They’re… Shit. No.” He covered his face, smearing the gore. Somehow, he’d even gotten blood in his hair. “Didn’t they… I heard they once sliced off a guy’s bottom lip.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

Rourke let out a loud sigh. It seemed like I should clarify.

“It’s sort of a … Darius’ trademark thing, but that’s more for turf shit.”

If I had to guess how they’d make Rourke pay for disrespecting their sister, it’d be with one clean scar across his pretty face. I don’t know if he pieced that together, but he took a deep breath and said, “Then I have to go with you.”

“What? That’s not… No.”

“I’m not safe.”

“Listen, if I’m gone, there’s no wedding. No wedding, no makeup.”

“Yeah, but I’m on their radar,” he said, trembling. “You can’t leave me here. You can’t, Zilv. They’ll … they’ll hurt me.”

He wasn’t necessarily wrong. If I left town and they’d last seen me with Rourke, there was no telling what Darius would do. Whatever he decided, the others would follow. On the other hand, with my money, I had less than I needed to get a good start, even if I was alone.

I’d pulled my emergency escape hatch. I had somewhere to go for a few nights, but it was a shit plan. Taking another person - specifically taking Rourke - would only make it worse.  
Unthinkable, really. I could not, under any circumstance take him with me.


	9. Chapter 9

ZILV

_scripscripscrip_

That's the sound of one of Rourke’s fingernails plucking at the duct tape that covered the cracks in the vinyl upholstery.

_Scripscrip_

It was possibly the most annoying sound I’d ever heard. Something one of my little brothers would do, but I took a deep breath and changed the subject.

“And your nan is fine with—-”

“It’ll be tomorrow evening before she notices,” he said. “Then I’ll phone and explain.”

“It’s just til things cool off,” I signalled for a left turn. “Then, right back you go.”

Rourke went on troubling the tape. I went on wanting to wring his neck.

Then he said, “This car is really shitty.”

It was a 2003 hatchback Saab. I didn’t need help pointing out that it was shit.

“Isn’t this Anna’s car?”

That's when I decided to ignore him.

“Because I’ve seen her—”

“It’s our car,” I said. “Mine and hers. I paid half."

“Does she know you have it?”

There was no reason for me to answer to a 15-year-old child. There was even less reason to take him along with me. Still, I huffed, shook my head and tried again to explain, “Taking this car is like kidnapping my own kid. Besides, her ring is worth more.”

Rourke wound down the window which threw off the air balance and made my ears throb. Of course, the button was jammed on my side, so I couldn’t wind it back up.

“Close that.”

Instead, he stuck his head out and shook his hair in the wind like a fucking beagle. I grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him his ass into the seat. We hadn’t been in the car ten minutes and the kid was driving me right bonkers.

Rourke whined, “My face still hurts.”

I'd hit him. I wasn't proud of it. What could I do besides apologize?

He connected the aux cable to his mobile phone and all of a sudden electric guitars screeched through the cruddy speakers.

“What the hell is this shit?”

Rourke bounced about in his seat, singing along to the howling maniac on the recording.

“Jesus Christ. Would you turn it down?”

He jumped like a spastic (though I'm sure he'd call it dancing). He squealed and I jumped. I’m talking painfully shit music, something about a charming man.

All of a sudden, Rourke’s balloon burst. He slumped back in his seat, turned down the volume and acted like a person instead of a barmy idiot.

The next song was slower, quieter. Still crap, but easier on the ears. Hoping it might have put him to sleep, I glanced over. This nitwit had swung from 'excited' to emo in the span of a few breaths. Rourke stared back at me with these sad pony eyes while he mouthed like it was a lip-sync battle”

“Please please please let me let me let me get what I want this time.”

I probably should have put a stop to his pinky hovering between our seats. The truth is, I still felt shit about hitting him. If he’d put his hand on my leg, I’d have ignored it.  
Maybe even liked it.

At the next stop light, Rourke launched himself into my lap, kissing and pawing my face.

“What the hell is wrong with you?"

I shoved him back into his seat. An old couple in the car beside us pursed their lips and shook their heads.

"This is exciting,” Rourke said. “I’m excited."

"Well, fucking be excited over there. I’m trying to drive."

He folded his arms and pressed his head to the seat. Sulking would have been good. It would have kept him quiet, but it didn’t last. He rolled his head over and started making suggestions.

“We could go to Leeds. There’s this brilliant YouTuber, I told I’d say hi if I were ever there.”

“We’re not going to Leeds.”

We were going to Hell. By this point, I was having third and fourth thoughts about the destination.

“We could drive through the night," Rourke said. "And wake up in Paris.”

“Paris?”

“Yeah.” He perked up again. “Did it once with my mum. She cursed about the Chunnel fees the whole way.”

“We’re not going to Paris, Rourke.”

“But you have a plan?”

“Of course, I have a —”

My blood was up again, so I stopped talking to him.

My silence seem to bother Rourke, though, because he was busy chirping  
at his mobile.

“Hey, you guys. It’s me. And you’re not going to believe where I am. I can’t even believe it. I’m on a road trip.” He stuck out his tongue. “Is that sweet or what? Ask me where I’m going? I have no idea. But this guy does.”

He turned the phone to me and I knocked it from his hand.

“You twat. This is Live stream!”

"Rourke, do not film me."

He fumbled on the floor and picked it up.

“As you can see, my chauffeur is rather beastly. I should tell them what you did to me.”

I fantasized about doing what I did to him again.

“Anyway,” Rourke said to his livestream audience. “I’ll check back in when I get there and let you know where I am. Don’t forget to subscribe, like and leave a comment. Let me know where you think we’re headed.”

He smiled at me, obviously chuffed with himself.

“You can’t be doing that. I’ve got like 3000 followers.”

I didn’t reply. I drove until we were parked on a street all lined with trees and BMWs. It had been so long since I was there, I’d forgotten how much the houses looked like the ones on Privet Drive.

Rourke sat up and looked around. “Is this it? You're having me on? This is Brentwood, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re like twenty minutes from home.”

“More like thirty. And no one’s looking for me here. You even less.”

“This was your grand plan, Zilv? Drive across Essex and park in front of Harry Potter’s house?”

“Would you shut your mush! My grand plan,” I said. “Was to share a flat in London, but I haven’t got the cash anymore. Right now I’ve got fuckall but this.”

Of course, Rourke shutting up to listen couldn’t possibly last.

“Well, why are we waiting?” He opened his door and stuck out a leg.

I wasn’t ready. I caught his arm.

“What? I’ve got to piss.”

“You pissed before we left.”

“And now I’ve got to piss again,” Rourke said. “Is this it or not?”

It was a bad idea to go there on my own. With Rourke, it was the dumbest thing I’d ever done. The run-in with Anna’s brothers had thrown me off my trolley. I had enough money for a night in a hostel, or we could save the money and sleep in the car. Anything else would be better.

I started the engine. Rourke cursed and pulled his door closed.

Someone knocked on my window. Even when I saw Oskar's wide, crocodile grin, my heart kept punching against my ribs like it was trying to get out.

 

ROURKE

I don’t know where the term ‘splitting image’ comes from, but it looked like Zilv from the future was staring in the window. I swear, it was like someone had done the makeup and dressed my Zilv in a button-down shirt to play his future self in a movie.  
This man was an utter fox with the splash of silver at his temples and dusted in his stubble. He also had a bit of a potbelly, but he was clearly friendlier than the younger version.

Older-Zilv tossed his fag in the grass and smiled at the younger one, then nodded at me.

“You didn’t say you were bringing friends.”

“Yeah, well. Surprise.”

Zilv’s kept his hands jammed in his pockets when his elder lookalike put an arm on his shoulder. He didn’t smile or say another word to introduce us. So, the older man turned and offered me his hand.

“Oskar Gudelianas.”

“Hello, sir.”

“Mm. Well-behaved.” He chuckled. “Call me Oz. You lads come in off your feet.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I grabbed my rucksack from the backseat and hiked after him. Zilv caught my arm and looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t speak with his nostrils flaring. Perhaps if I’d waited they’d send off a smoke signal.

Oz stood with the door open for us.

“Can we go inside?”

Zilv let me go. I fixed my shirt and entered the cutest little house. It wasn’t proper posh, but it was perfectly adorable and 1000x better than where I’d left.

Oz settled on the sofa and began rolling a zoot. “Who wants in?”

“Oh. Yes, please.” I sat beside him.

Zilv pulled me to my feet. He had this thing about tugging my shirt that was really under my skin. “You will not.”

“You’re not my father, Zilv.”

Oz laughed heartily at that. “Now, that would have surprised me.”

“None for him,” Zilv said again. “I mean it.”

I yanked away, fixed my bloody shirt again and sat back down.

“Smoking is actually worse than marijuana?”

I'd actually heard that somewhere, although I doubt it’s true.

Anyway, it was all very exciting, as I’d never had weed before. Turns out, it didn’t do much for me. But it made Oskar giggle like mad whilst Zilv stood over us with his arms folded, looking angry as a devil.


	10. Chapter 10

ZILV

These daytime telly shrinks will tell you the best thing is to make peace with your shitty dad if you have a chance. That was all bollocks to me. I didn’t come to Park Road for a hug. All I needed from the man was a bed.

Oskar grinned at the way Rourke laid with his head back on the couch and his mouth wide. He played at sticking a finger in, but my expression made him think wiser.

“You two —”

I shut down the question with another glare. Wasn’t his fucking business what we were.

“I’ll give him your old room, then.”

I nodded but kept quiet to keep from going aggro. Being back in that house, across from that man, was like a lucid dream of drowning. My brain kept trying to tell me it wasn’t real, but I still couldn’t breathe. What do you do when you’re drowning? You fight for air.

But just like the hugs, I hadn’t come to hit my father for old times sake. I had nowhere else to go.

After the run-in with Karlo at the club, I knew exactly what I had to do. Google makes it too fucking easy to get phone numbers, especially if the person’s got a unique name. If you’re looking for a John Smith, might be different, but finding Oskar took about 45 seconds.

He answered the phone with a sort of hum, now that I think about it, probably already high.

“Hi. Oskar?”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s um, Zilv.” It felt too stupid saying I was his son. “Zilvinas?”

“Yeah. Hey.”

“Hey, listen, I kind of... I need a place to crash a couple of nights.”

There was a long moment of dead silence. It had been five years since I’d spoken to the man, eight since I’d seen him. It was mad of me to phone. I hung up. I’d find a better way.

He called right back and said, “Yeah, sure. Of course. When?”

“Tonight, if possible.”

There I was, a few hours later, standing in my sister’s old bedroom, thanking Oskar for the towel. All I had to do was get through that night without losing my shit. No fighting, no crying. Not a word about my life. No questions about his. The most important thing was making sure he knew I didn’t give a shit what he thought of me.

I let Oskar pour me a tumbler of bourbon and sat on the corner of the sofa, rolling the drink over my tongue, grateful he still hadn’t tried to make me talk. A brick wall can’t make an arse of itself.

Eventually, Rourke blinked awake and Oskar showed him where he’d be sleeping. After the lad had showered, he came to the bedroom door in only a t-shirt and his underwear, yawning like a much younger child.

“Night, Oz.”

Oskar waved through a haze of smoke.

I thought, at first, Rourke was going to ignore me as further punishment. Instead, he stared like he was waiting for me to come to tuck him in. He bit his lip and scratched the back of his calf with his bare toes, those long legs looking paler in the dim room. He batted his lashes and mouthed, “Night.”

As soon as the door closed, Oskar stood and stretched his arms over his head. For some reason, seeing his gut poking out under his shirt helped me relax. I certainly wasn’t afraid of this fat, hairy fuck anymore. If I wanted, I could beat his old arse into the carpet.

What terrified me was the idea of some bullshit chitchat that would make him feel better about the bad years with him, and the shitty, struggling years without him. Being back in that house was already like saying I forgave him. I hadn’t said those words and I never would. But it was like watching mates gangbang a drunk girl. Sure, you didn’t do the deed, but you almost may as well have.

“You hungry?”

I shook my head.

Oskar mumbled something about an all-night place and picked up his phone. “You sure?”

It was nearly 3 AM and I hadn’t eaten since my shift at the club started at 8. I was fucking starving.

“No.”

He placed his order and then looked at me like I had the food. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I’ve got a plan.” I had no plan. “We’re just here a couple of days.”

“And what’s with—”

“He’s a friend.” Even if I’d had a proper answer, I wouldn’t have told Oskar.

He nodded. “You know what, I’m going to go pick it up. Need the air. Did you want to —”

He jabbed his thumb at the door, a sort of an invitation to join him, I think. When I said I was knackered, it was true. It was one hell of a long night.

“All right, then… Make yourself at home.”

That was a good one. They’d brought newborn me from hospital to that house. I’d learned to walk there, lost teeth, scraped the hell out of my elbows running from the neighbour boy whose name I still can’t remember. It used to be my home. Oskar had made it not that.

The leather sofa. The posh coasters on the spotless glass table. None of that was mine.

I looked up whilst I shat, wondering if Oskar had a guy he paid to go up and keep it the sky roof clean. My childhood memories are pretty vivid, save that one detail.

For a while, I floated around Oskar’s house, like a ghost from his fucked-up past: invisible and barely real. I sniffed his cologne like some sort of lovesick female. Rifled through his shirts. He still kept his cash in the same dumb place (a sock in his top left drawer). Always good to know where I could nick 2,000 quid in a pinch.

I was 12 when my parents divorced, old enough to stay if I’d wanted. I was the oldest and a boy. Oskar would have tolerated me as long as I towed his line. I’d probably be an accountant or something by now. Was always good in maths. Instead, I was me, who’d scraped through high school and graduated because they were sick of looking at me.

When I was done in Oskar's room, I tiptoed over and stood in front of Rourke’s door. The possibility of Oskar catching me in there kept me from knocking. Then I got pissed off that I cared what he’d think.

Instead of going in, I camped there wondering what kind of insult it was for Oskar to give Rourke my old room. I couldn’t figure it out, which made it worse. Then again, I didn’t want to get inside that fucker’s head. I just wanted to see Rourke.

The door was unlocked. He was asleep with his arm hanging over the side of the mattress. I wiped the damp curls back from his face and he snorted (although I’m sure he’d deny it).

What the hell was I supposed to do with this nervy brat?

At the time, what I wanted was one interrupted night with him so I could figure out whether I wanted another night with him. But it had to happen outside of that house.

There wasn’t much in Oskar’s fridge besides take-out containers and tomato sauce in packets. My stomach grunted at that. If Oskar returned with food, my body would make me have some. In order to protect my dignity, I fled to Zarya’s old room. All the pink and frills were gone. He’d turned it into a boring, blue guest room. I’d been so focused on Rourke I hadn’t noticed how Oskar had changed mine.

I couldn’t fall asleep, so I powered on my phone. There were thirteen messages from Anna to ignore. Rather than listen to them, I jerked off to this plump girl sucking her own tits while she buggered herself with a thick, black dildo. I came a couple of times to that classic, but it still didn’t do the trick.

So, I watched a few videos from this bloke who goes into the wilderness and pokes at wasps’ nests on purpose. Somehow, after I was done with that rubbish, I wound up over at Rourke’s channel. He’d already uploaded the video from in the car that night. Although it was dark and of poor quality, there were 107 likes and a handful of comments from the kind of people who are awake in the middle of the night watching moronic shit:

\- Your driver’s so hottttt!!! Does he have a channel?  
\- hey sweetie  
\- wuzzup, Rourke. Come to Pittsburgh. Pleeeeze. (Heart-eyes. Eggplants)

That’s when I realized Rourke had followers in the States. He was an international hit, not in the millions, but people were paying attention to him. Guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised.

A lot of people wanted to know who I was. Others called me an arsehole. There was a tonne of heart emojis either for me or for Rourke, though I couldn’t tell what for. The world is full of idiots with too much time on their hands…  
such as me, scrolling down to the very first of his videos, uploaded two years prior. I’d looked his videos before but never dug through the archives like a stalker.

There sat a 13-year-old doll of a boy with fairer curls falling into his insanely blue eyes. No talk of makeup back then. Just rambling about school and cereals with this squeaky voice that curdled my blood. At the same time, I couldn’t stop looking at him. I told myself it was brotherly affection. The only other explanation was that I was a paedophile.

Quite a few of those left comments. You could just imagine the cum-thirsty old bastards wanking at their ancient desktop computers writing things like:

\- hello beautiful.  
  
\- what I wouldn’t do to that mouth

\- you look so sweet, boy. cum here so i can taste

There were rude comments, as well, which made me wonder why Rourke didn’t just take those down.

On the next video, Rourke wore a rose-pink blouse, a black bow-tie and fuzzy fox ears on top o his head. If YouTube was doing their job, they’d have taken it down.

“Chas from Scilly wants to know what I look for in a daddy,” Rourke squeaked. “Well, Chas, thanks for your question. I’m not entirely sure what you mean. If it’s something to do with sex, none of you is allowed to think about touching me.”

He adjusted his ears and wiped his hair from his eyes, the slutty little minx.

“I guess, a daddy would take care of me. Buy me things. And be kind to me. Kiss me a lot.”

He batted his lashes and my heart expanded, right along with other bits. It’s not like ordinary porn getting hard over a little boy. You start to question your sanity. But there I was, watching Rourke puckered for the camera and slather on ‘Pink Orchid’ lip colour like a baby whore.

“I suppose a good daddy would make me want to be a good son. And show me how to be. He’ll give me everything and I’ll do the same for him.”

He ended the video with his trademark sign-off (the little air kiss and peace sign, like a Japanese anime character). That made me want to wring his neck again. Half the time, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to murder the boy or marry him.

One of the responses to that video caught my attention read:

\- Dearest Rourke-angel. A lad as lovely as you can have anything he wants in a Daddy.


	11. Chapter 11

**ROURKE**

 

My eyes fluttered open in paradise. It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but compared to my old, shithole room, there was too much sunlight through the curtains. The bed was too comfortable. The entire room was too big. It didn’t take long for my body to adjust to luxury, though.

Once I’d figured out where I was, I lay staring at the smooth white walls, not missing the cracking paint and water-discolouration from Nan’s place. Another element that was noticeably absent was the shouted profanity from the other side of the wall. There was only wide, white silence occasionally broken by the bark of a little dog.

Of course, it only required one episode of KUWTK I was the product of squalor, but a prisoner needs only escape his former dungeon to learn how sorely he’d been mistreated. Not that my poverty-stricken single mother or my dear-heart negligent nan intended to harm. I was merely born into the wrong family, the wrong circumstances. I never felt this more clearly than on that heavenly pile of pillows in Oskar Gudelianas’ guest bed.

The only odd component was a huge model rocketship, nearly half my length. It dangled with its nose aimed for the ceiling whilst tiny cosmonauts waved through the window, a fairly peculiar piece of decoration in the home of an adult male not completely obsessed with Star Wars. Then again, the bookshelves were also lined with dorky titles by dork writers like Tolkien and Douglas Adams. 

When my bladder finally threatened to burst, I rolled out of bed and found the huge, spacious, lavender-smelling loo. Unfortunately, I couldn’t even enjoy the dressing room mirrors because of the bruised up,plum-cheeked, puffy-eyed chipmunk scowling back.

Zilv had really beat the shit out of me. In the rush, I’d abandoned my makeup at nan’s and was, therefore, ill-equipped to cover the massacre. The insides of my mouth were raw, as well. I chewed off one of the thin slivers of lacerated flesh and spit it in the sink.

If I stared at for a moment longer, I would cry, so I washed my hideous face and fled my reflection.

When I powered up my phone, there were about 20 messages from Zarya. I lacked the patience to read them all and only responded to the last one.

ZG: I just want to be sure he’s okay.

I wrote back: Your brother’s fine.

In under a minute, she replied:

ZG: OMG, U asshole!!! Saw your vid. U 2 R soooo banging!

ZG: Tell Zilv to get home. Everyone is proper brassed off

I’d made the mistake of responding in the first place, so it seemed best to clarify a few things. Well, one thing, really:

ME: Your brother and I are not banging. He is an impenetrable fortress

ZG: If that’s something to do with his arse, I don’t want to know.

ME: Not what I meant.

I rolled my eyes and considered powering down my phone for all eternity.Before I could do it, Zarya sent a series of long messages that I suppose were meant to be helpful.

ZG: My brother is a shit head, Rourke. Ask him. He’ll tell U. He dropped out of school. Can’t hold a job for 6 months. Now this stunt with Anna.

ZG: Wot do U think he’s going to do 2 U? Marry U and give U babies?

ZG: UR better off coming home right now before he ruins UR life 2.

ZG: I get it. U think he’s hot right?

ZG: Zilv is my brother and I love him but he’s a dick.

ZG: Think about it. He just broke off an engagement and stole his fiancés' car. U have 2 think with more than your cock, Rourke.

ZG: Zilv is a loser. Being a loser is contagious.

It’s always good to get a pep talk in the morning.

That’s around the time I silenced my phone and searched for signs of life in the living room.

I could go on and on about how nice this house was, but we’ve all been in homes we wished were our own. Or driven past ones and fantasized how it would be to arrive there, kick off our shoes, maybe shout to someone that we’re back and what a day it’s been.

For example, at the lip of the open kitchen sat the most darling marble-top island with barstools on the edge of the open kitchen. I could hop up and rest my chin on my knuckles - stainless steel fridge to my left, Oz making coffee in the centre of a cocoon of rustic white cabinets. I’d never seen anything so quaint in real life.

I may, or may not have assessed his ass in those slim fit, grey slacks. The blue button-down shirt wasn’t yet tucked in. Morning casual. Fucking gorgeous.

“Caffeine?”

“Mmm,” I said and then because that wasn’t actually an answer, added, “As much as you’ve got.”

“Coming up. There’s also Ready-brek. Eggs and milk in the fridge which I grabbed this morning since I didn’t know —”

“It’s all fine.”

I adjusted the salt and pepper to keep my hands busy. Oz nodded and fed his pot into the espresso machine. Yes, this man had a high-end espresso machine in his kitchen and he knew how to use it to make a godly aroma. In this life or a prior one, I’d done something righteous.

His expression shifted for a moment when he looked at my face, but he didn't ask or comment. Instead, he said, “You know that room where you slept used to belong to Zilvinas.”

I’d seen it on his ID, but never heard anyone call Zilv that. It was even more exotic than his nickname. Hot, for no reason, as if his parents’ foreign roots made him genetically pre-disposed to be more of a freak than the average British male. Someone should do a study.

I’d have paid more attention to the room if I’d known.

“So, I guess that rocket…”

Oz grinned and nodded.

“And all the books.

“Also.”

Somehow, I hadn’t pegged Zilv as a big reader. Not that he seemed unintelligent, I just wouldn’t have guessed it was a pastime.

“Took three fucking months building that bloody ship,” Oz said. “Couldn’t rightly junk it.”

I read that as an open invitation to talk about the bad old days, but since I wasn’t around for any of that, it didn’t seem my place. It did, however, confirm one assumption:

“So, you are his dad?”

Oz chuckled. “Guess I can’t be offended he didn’t —” He sighed and nodded, letting the realization sink in. “What did he say?”

“Say about what?” - Zilv.

My lungs lit up like twin flares at his post-dawn growl. His hair was all spiked up, biceps bunched and available for ogling in a sleeveless t-shirt. I’m no fan of the girls on his arm, but I was willing to forgive their presence if I could only lick the canvas on which they were painted.

He stopped at the fridge, directly between me and his dad. “What are you two on about?”

“You,” Oz said and grinned. “What else?”

Zilv scowled like someone had shoved a lemon up his nose. I hadn’t seen much of his smile at that point, but it was glorious on his father.

Right now, you’re judging me for thirsting after a 50-something man. Before you think too highly of your decency, please imagine your fittest teacher ever. Right? Age. Is. A number.

Now, if you will imagine Zilv Gudel - squared.

One was young and aggro with a hard body and hands black with tattoos. Ravishing and fierce, like a pit bull in track pants.

Then, there was a second, paler version with silver streaks at his temple and the crow’s claws at his eyes. What he lacked in youth, he replaced with an easy manner. An adult man all dressed up for an honest day’s desk-bound slavery. Although he didn’t have Zilv’s godlike physique, who does? The man was quite fit in his own right.

I sat, silently salivating. Imagining them shopping together to buy my first leash. Zilv overseeing the tattooing of both their names on my respective ass cheeks. They could shove me back and forth between them like a stuffed doll. Make me take whatever they’d give. Lock me in a closet all day, bring me out for occasions.

Thus were born my dreams of a life spent on my knees. A mouth full of one cock or the other whilst my right hand furiously stroked to keep my other daddy happy. I’d seen enough videos I think I could do it well. For bonus points, they could join together over my head like a bridge, and I would totally reach orgasm just from watching them kiss.

Half the people in the world are waiting around for an opening. The other half create their own. That daydream was enough of an encouragement for me to take a breath, stand and slowly enter the kitchen. I positioned myself between them, held out my palms for Zilv to see, and spoke softly so Oz would have to lean close to hear.

“My hands still hurt from yesterday.”

Did I expect him to lean down and softly blow? Perhaps not. But I also didn’t think he’d lift his own hands, inching backwards against the fridge as if I had come closer to share my leprosy. At the same time, Oz turned around and delivered my coffee.

“Here you are, my boy.”

There was nothing sexy or suggestive about it. Oz said, “My boy” with all the allure of a teacher handing back a graded test. Then Oz mumbled something I didn’t understand. It may not even have been English. He laid a set of keys on the counter and left.

Zilv waited until the front door clicked shut before he turned and grabbed my arm.

“What did he say to you?”

“What? Nothing, freak. Let go of me.”

He started to squeeze until I offered to toss my boiling coffee on his thin layer of cotton. He let go my arm, but when on snarling, “Don’t … Don’t talk to him. As a matter of fact, you’re not to be alone with him at all. ”

That was the moment when I realized that I hated Zilv. If not hate, strongly dislike. Maybe Zarya was even right. He was a loser who got off on pushing people around. Ever since we’d left Harlow he’d become a complete killjoy.

He tried to touch my cheek, but it was already sore. I turned away to stop him from touching me. My coffee was also too hot, so I sat it on the counter.

Zilv turned to the stove. “What do you want to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

As I turned to leave the kitchen, my mobile buzzed in my pocket. The moment I took it out, that great ape leapt and yanked it from my hand. He glared at the screen.

“Are you talking to my sister?”

I couldn't see the harm in that, so I shrugged.

“Are you insane?” he shouted, clearly the mad one. “You can’t be talking to them. I can’t run the risk of people finding me here.”

“Fine.” I held out my palm.

“I’m going to have to destroy it.”

“What?!”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“No, my contacts. My everything.” I attacked, but Zilv held me at bay with a single elbow. “Zilv, no. You can’t do that, you arsehole. Give me my phone.”

He held it over his head like an insufferable big brother torturing a younger sibling. “And that video, from last night, you need to delete it now. They all probably already know you’re with me.”

“God forbid anybody thinks I was with you.”

Punching him in the ribs injured my wrist whilst he’d have been more bothered by a mosquito.

“That’s not what I meant,” Zilv said. “How fucking stupid can you be?”

He gave me back the phone, but it was too late. Strong dislike had blossomed into pure, simmering hate. He was a primate and I was an idiot to ever like him.

“Just take down the video. Now.”

“You really are a complete loser.”

“Brilliant,” he said and thundered from the kitchen. “We’re out of here in ten minutes.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“Leave nothing you want to keep,” Zilv shouted. “We may not be back.”

To think, I’d actually deserted my nan with some ride or die delusion of what Zilv and I would be to each other. In fact, my only chance of survival in this new world had nothing to do with the son and everything to do with the father.


	12. Chapter 12

ZILV

Little known fact: I’ve always been odour-sensitive. At first, I thought Oskar had spilt laundry detergent or plugged in one of those air freshening devices, but I couldn’t trace the source. Whatever that heavy musk was, I was on the verge of a mighty headache.

Another reason to leave. I’d also had as much of Rourke’s nonsense as I could stomach. “Pack your shit and let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

This is the part when I could have said, Fuck it, left him and gone on about my business for the day. Deal with the stubborn prat later. But I didn’t know Oskar. What I remembered didn’t make me confident to leave a spindly fifteen-year-old alone in his house.

“I’m not saying it again,” I hissed, struggling with my temper. “Go. Get in the fucking car, Rourke.”

“No.”

“You’re an annoying little git, you know that?”

“You’re an insufferable meathead,” he says to me. “And I hope you fucking die.”

That’s how it is reasoning with a toddler. This migraine was coming in hard. It was enough arguing. Time to physically removeRourke from the house.

“I said to get in the car.”

I lunged, and he dashed for it, quick as a bloody rabbit. So, I had to be a fox. Both of us making split-second decisions as we leapt around the living room. You should see this fucker run. He’s light on his toes. I’ll give him that.

He also squeaks when he’s scared. “Don’t you touch me, you barbarian.”

The parlour had become a labyrinth with a wee maniac bouncing over the coffee table, ducking around the sofa. Then he bunged a wooden elephant statue at my face.

“Oi! Quit throwing shit!”

Besides the fact that he was trying to take my head off, if something got broken there was no way I could replace it.

“Then leave me alone.”

Next, he ripped the lamp cord from the wall and prepared to toss it. I stopped at my end of the beautiful, black Italian leather sofa and held both hands in the air, calling for a truce.

Rourke, however, did not unhand his weapon. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“You’re going home?”

“No,” he said. “You’re leaving, right? I’m going to stay with your father.”

It was so ridiculous that the words took a few seconds to worm through my skull and get to the meat. “With my... What is that supposed to mean?”

Rourke placed the lamp back on the table and folded his arms. “I think he likes me.”

“Likes you?”

“He’ll come to.”

“Are you mad?”

“Maybe he’d like—”

Once his meaning came clear, my concern for order evaporated. I vaulted over the sofa, tackled that squealing, fleeing idiot and shoved him against the wall. The godawful stink was Rourke all along. He’d douse himself in Oskar’s aftershave. The stuff was oozing from his pores. Even the expensive shit is nauseating if you overdo it. Rourke didn’t seem to know any other way but to overdo things.

I grabbed his collar and jerked him to his toes. “You trying to piss me off?”

“Why would I ... You think very highly of yourself?” Rourke said, still snarky despite the fact that I was about to rearrange his internal organs. “I don’t give a shit if you’re angry. You can eat a turd, for all I care.”

His cheeks had gone raspberry-red, fair curls flew every which way. He was so utterly upset that he wouldn’t even meet my eyes.

“Eat a turd?”

“Yes.”

“A turd, Rourke?” My smile cracked through. “You fucking little…”

I ruffled his baby-soft hair. Then, gripped it tight, drawing his head back like a PEZ dispenser. I took a light taste of his candy-pink and coffee-flavoured lips. Watching his videos made me realise how little he’d changed since he was thirteen. There I was, twenty years old dying to bang the shit out of a pre-teen. 24 hours prior, I’d only wanted to fuck the lad, not become his primary guardian.

“Why are you so adorable?”

“Why are you so brutish?” He asked, trying to shove me away. “That fucking hurts.”

I tightened my fist in his hair and closed him in with my hips - choking on cologne.

“That wasn’t funny,” I said. “The bit about my father.”

“He is fit.”

Rourke was like a weevil, trying to burrow under my skin. He wanted to see rage, so I grabbed his throat and kissed with more teeth than tenderness. That stopped the struggling. Rourke dropped his arms at his sides, let me lick the roof of his mouth, suck his tongue, press my hardening cock against his belly.

Somewhere outside, somebody’s mutt started yapping like it had a problem with what we were doing. Rourke smiled and I turned in the direction of the noise.

“I’m going to kill that fucking dog.”

Rourke turned my face back to him and nipped my lower lip. As he reached for my belt, I mustered a heroic level of self-control, caught his wrist, and reminded him:

“You’re still a minor.”

He laughed and tried to break free.

“I mean it.”

“You’re having me on about that.”

“I’m not.” I held his hands to the wall. “You’re looking at a law-abiding citizen.”

“Zilv.”

“Who does not shag children.”

“Come on.”

“When is your birthday?”

He whined. “Not for 4 months.”

“So be it.”

I stepped back and let him go, adjusting my pants as I turned.

“Why?” He asked. “Why are we waiting?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Says who.” The little imp leapt onto my back, nearly throwing off my balance. “If we were in the States, we’d have to wait until I was 18. Would you do that?”

“If I had to,” I said, thanking God that we weren’t in the States.

“It’s only 14 in Germany. We could go for the weekend.”

“Rourke,” I spun in a circle, holding tight to his legs. “We’re not going to Germany. We are going to wait the four measly months, so I can keep out of prison.”

“Who’s going to—”

“And feel like slightlyless of a paedophile.”

He sighed against my neck. I bent forward, shifted my weight and swung him around front so I could perch on the back of the sofa with him in my lap. If I’d met him two years earlier could I have been so good?

“Four little months,” I said. “It’ll be hot waiting. Like you’re a little Christian.” 

I’d gone out with a Catholic girl who’d made me wait and wait and wait. If she was trying to drive me crazy, it worked.

“No, please,” Rourke whined. “Why are you so mean?”

I pecked him and patted his ass, feeling the mobile in his back pocket, which reminded me of the night before.

“And you need to erase that video of us,” I said. “I’m serious. Don’t film me.”

One last kiss and I stood, placing him on his feet.

He pouted, fixing his hair. I did my best to help, but when those curls get long, they can be unruly.

Rourke batted my hands away. “I hate you.”

“Well, I love you.”

He stared up at me with huge, confused eyes. I knew what I’d said. Over the couple of weeks, since I’d met Rourke, I’d developed an almost primal urge to murder and protect Rourke, same as with my younger siblings. I’d wanted to fuck him the first time we met. What else is love but the desire to kill, shield and shag someone?

Why are people so anxious about three words? You can say, ‘I’m going out.’ ‘I’ll be back.’ ‘Hey, what’s up?’ and no one loses their shit. You say, ”I love you,” suddenly, they’re plotting a wedding. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut, but it was out by then. 

“Problem?” I asked.

“Don’t say that?”

“Why shouldn’t I say it?” I took his face between my hands and touched our noses together. “I love you, you little brat.”

“It’s not funny, Zilv.” He tore away.

“I’m not laughing.”

Rourke shook his head and turned his back so I couldn’t tell what was going on beneath those curls.

“I’m going looking for a job. We need money, don’t we?” I said. “And you need to go to school. So, will you, please, wash some of the shit off your neck and then, get in the car?”

“I could work, as well.” He turned around, sky-blue eyes glassy and earnest.

“What did I just say?”

“Are you my father now?”

I pinched his chin and pecked his cheeky lips. “School.”

As we made our way to the car, there were children squealing a few houses down as a young father bustled his son and daughter and their rucksacks into their station wagon. 


	13. Chapter 13

ROURKE

Zilv idled in front of Brentwood County High School. “I’ll pick up here and figure out what to do.”

I was not, under any circumstance, to be alone in the house with his father. Since it was so important to him, I nodded and vowed. The building loomed lifeless and non-descript.

“You went to school here?”

“I went to Essex, like you and Zarya.”

I nodded, reminding myself to soon inquire after the complete timeline of Zilv’s youth.

He volunteered, “We left here when I was 12.”

Another nod and inhale combination.

“You sure you can handle it?” Zilv asked. “I could come in with you.”

“I’ve got it.”

I’d already explained how I handled the school bit when I moved from my mum’s to live with Nan. I cleverly omitted the fact that registration required transcripts and ID that I lacked. I was thinking I could sashay in and explain that the Polish mafia was trying to assassinate me at my old school. They’d let me in as a sort of refugee, waive all the red tape.

At any rate, I turned up my puckered lips for an enheartening kiss. Zilv chuckled and checked in every cardinal direction before consenting to a brief, grandfatherly nip.

We wished each other luck and he was off. I waved from the front step of my future school. The moment his car rounded the corner, I turned and faced the double doors. My heart plunged through my stomach into my guts. Why would anyone willingly step into a prison?

Around the other side of the building, someone was yelling. Possibly my peers at play. It was as likely that they were engaged in some ritual form of social torture meant to prepare themselves for an adulthood of cruelty and impotence.

“Sorry, Zilv.”

I spoke the words out loud and fled that penal institution as fast as my legs would carry me.

The homes in the neighborhood were considerably less pretentious than the school. While that building put on an air of officiousness and order, the houses nestled around it in a quiet humility. They appeared to huddle in the sharing of harmless gossip. Most of the businesses were family-owned and charming, if somewhat dull: a florist (who buys flowers anymore?), a Realestate agency, a chemist.

I strolled until I stumbled upon Cafe A’Moore. There, I sat on the patio and ordered tea, which was presented with a stack of stale biscuits. I lingered for a while, smiling cheerily for the foot traffic. Unfortunately, I hadn’t any money. To be fair, I’ve always believed tea and snacks should be an entitlement of the government, if only to boost the general civility of the population.

Once I’d finished, I waited for me server to duck inside, wrapped my biscuits in a paper serviette, drew a sad face on another, and slipped away.

I loitered, and roamed, and squandered a few precious hours in a boutique, sampling fragrances and painting strips of eyeshadow on my forearm while ignoring the shop hand who kept asking if I needed any help. I couldn’s possibly have looked as though I needed help. She was the one keeping a an empty and poorly-stocked store.

When her phone rang, I relieved the shelf of a deep-plum lip gloss I’d been admiring and wished her a pleasant day.

Finally, my lengthy school day was coming to an end. In order to avoid a close encounter with any of my peers, I began to make my way back to Park Road, where Oz lived.

Behind me, a tiny bell jingled on the most adorable white Corgi I’d ever seen. I trailed him at a distance for a while, but after I watched him cross the road without so much as glancing at the oncoming traffic, I kissed the air, patted my knees, perform all the classic dog-attracting tactics. He glanced over his shoulder at me and pranced on.

Pure genius reminded me to unpack my biscuits. I knelt and offered one in the palm of my hand. As he chewed, I lifted the wee fellow around the middle. According to his collar, his Christian name was Lieutenant.

“All right, then.”

A right smelly beast, and a lover of biscuits. Also, obviously a gift from the heavens.

“Was it you barking to my rescue this morning when Zilv was roughing me about?” I asked while Lefty munched. “He really a good man, I believe, but sometimes he forgets it.”

We were getting on quite nicely when a woman with aggressive corkscrew curls stood in the middle of her garden and pointed a hand shovel at me. “Young man. Where’d you get that dog?”

“He’s mine.”

I hugged Lefty tighter and picked up my pace, aghast at the meddlesome bitch who was now chasing us.

“Let’s see the collar, then,” she called.

I made a dash for it. Unfortunately, watching over my shoulder made it impossible to anticipate the tricycle in my path. Gravity began to have its way with me. My hands flew up allowing Lefty to scurry to safety as I landed directly on my knees, falling forward onto my already traumatized hands.

Rolling over onto my ass, swearing at my aching kneecaps.

My tormentor was still in pursuit, so I looked about, found a palm-sized stone and leapt to my feet. I was just about to launch it at her face when Oz called out, “Rourke?”

I turned to face him and dropped my weapon.

The woman made it to my side as he was waiting to cross the street. She touched my shoulder. “That was a nasty spill. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I shook off her hand.

“Oskar, did you see where the Lieutenant got off to?”

“‘Fraid not.” He shook his head and looked me over, taking especial interest in my legs.

I returned the favor, not neglecting his crotch: layman’s curiosity as to whether he and his son were similarly endowed.

“How was your day,” I asked, trying to focus on his eyes and not his trousers.

“A bit tiring,” he said. “Is Zilvinas home?”

“Not yet.”

I loved the way he pronounced Zilv’s name. And the dignified white streaks in his hair. I was, I will admit, still a bit smitten.

“Should we go in, roll one,” I asked, reaching for common ground.

“That’s not a daily habit.” Oz chuckled. “It was a bit of a stressful night, what with…”

“I liked it.”

“Well, that’s lovely.”

I was, admittedly, flirting, but no intention of wrongdoing.

Zilv and I were unofficially/officially… confusing. We had kissed. He’d made that ridiculous proclamation which I’d promptly put out of my mind. Of course he didn’t - couldn’t love me. According to every magazine I’d ever read, the words, ‘I love you’ spoken from the lips of a young, virile male could be directly translated to mean, ‘Pretty please, may I fuck you now?’

He was being polite about his intentions.

Only, Zilv could have fucked me this morning. I’d have bent over the breakfast table and let him use butter as lube. He could have skipped the ‘please.’

But he’d refused.

As I said, confusing. Nevertheless, I did consider him my boyfriend, of sorts. Or at least, a fuckbuddy… The details needed ironing out. In the meantime, I was standing in the middle of the street with his highly attractive father, who was very definitely checking me out. To be honest, it was a bit awkward until Oz pointed, “You’re bleeding. Did you know?”

“Oh.” I looked. “Oh.”

I was, in fact, bleeding and not a little bit. There was a streak of red seeping through my jeans.

“Shit.”

“Would you like to… Why don’t you come in and wash up?”

I hobbled behind him a few steps.

“Is it bad?”

Oz stopped and offered his shoulder, wrapping an arm around my waist for support. I made it to the kitchen table, limping and leaning on him like an injured soldier in WWII.

“Here. Have a seat. I’ll…”

His voice trailed off as he disappeared into the bathroom.

“Fuck me,” I said, to my leg and the searing pain, especially in my right knee.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

He kneeled and opened his first aid kit. “That’s going to need to… I can’t see to it that way.”

It was a moment before I understood that the wound was behind frayed and blood-soaked denim. My medic couldn’t help until it was removed. Oz brought scissors from the kitchen.

I couldn’t bear for the only pair of jeans I’d brought along to be snipped to smithereens. So, I stood and began to unbuckle my jeans.

“No, no," Oz insisted. “Let me.”

While I stood there, he carefully cut the left leg of my pants around my thigh. Then he removed my shoe and slid it from off my foot, hands sure as a surgeon’s. Meanwhile, my best jeans were destroyed. I slumped onto the chair and watched in sorrow.

“Does it hurt?” He asked. “Are you old enough for a drink?”

“I am.”

Whatever he brought burned the hell out of my throat. I’d never had anything so strong, but I willed myself not to cough or pull a face.

Oz kneeled again, opened an alcohol pad and began cleaning my leg. The fumes stung my eyes even at that distance. His touch was light, the swab cold and I was beginning to get hard in my ravaged pants.

I held the glass in my lap and bit my lip. Oz didn’t even look up as he worked, but he did speak.

“This may seem like a strange request, Rourke, but what can you tell me about my son?”

I decided not to tell about Zilv’s broken engagement, and how we’d met. That didn’t leave much to share.

“Well, as you’ve seen, he’s very strong,” I said. “A bit overbearing at times.”

Oz nodded as if I was providing him with priceless information. “Have you known each other long?”

“Oh, you know,” I shrugged.

The front door opened and Zilv rescued me from having to invent a story.


	14. Chapter 14

ZILV

Rourke wasn’t where I’d told him to wait, so I head back to Oskar’s.

I was surprised to find the old man’s car in the driveway. It was an even bigger shock to find him on his knees, holding Rourke’s bare leg, gazing up like he was proposing.

Oskar stood and dropped whatever was in his hand. “Just having a little chat, weren’t we, lad?”

“Yep,” Rourke said, bending over his leg, toying with a bloody spot on his knee.

“What happened to you?” I asked, heated enough to happen something else to him.

He sighed dramatically and went on treating his wound. “I’m damaged.”

Oskar clapped and touched my shoulder. “Hey, listen, I’m glad you’re home.”

“Here,” I corrected, glaring at the hand until he removed it. “I’m here. Right now.”

“Right. Of course. There’s something I wanted to discuss when you have a moment.”

While Rourke continued to work on his leg, I stepped into the living room with Oskar, arms folded, posturing for a brief, direct conversation. My body-language shouting that he could stuff whatever it was up his arse.

“Listen, I could use a hand in the office.”

I wasn’t expecting it, wasn’t prepared for it. So, I stood there blinking like a nitwit. I’d passed the entire day with job interviews and ignoring calls from Anna and my mother. It had never crossed my mind to ask Oskar for work.

“Well, think on it.” He said, slapping my shoulder again. “Rourke mentioned you were looking for work, so …”

Of course, Rourke mentioned because Rourke has a big mouth. What he required was something in it at all times. I ought to plug him like the gimp in Pulp Fiction.

Oskar ducked back into the kitchen. By this point, Rourke had bandaged his leg and was staggering toward me, smirking. “How was your day?”

He angled his face up, presenting his lips like a bullseye when he should have known I wasn’t prepared to snog a young boy in front of my father.

I shook my head. He nodded and stepped back. He glanced at Oskar who was rummaging the cabinets, setting cans on the counter.

“You lads fancy a soup tonight?”


	15. Chapter 15

ROURKE

I thought I’d perfected the silent treatment. Zilv didn’t speak a word to me all night. Wouldn’t look me in the eye. I tried to stroke his ankle under the table and he moved away. Couldn’t even get a good night out of him when I turned in early for bed.

My plan was to show him two could play, but it would have to wait until morning. I lay in bed imagining how he’d try to talk to me the next day, and I’d act like a brick wall. Bounce back the same flat nothing he’d given me all night. He could ask for the time and I’d pretend he wasn’t even wind.

“Sorry, Oz,” I’d say. “Did you hear something?”

Good plan. The trouble was I couldn’t sleep because I was too excited with anticipation of thoroughly punishing him.

I hopped out of bed and checked out the books that belonged to twelve year old Zilv. The Hobbitt, Lord of the Rings. A tattered, dog-eared copy of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe. Every other page featured a highlighted passage. Such as:

‘There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exacly what the universe is for and why it’s here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory which states that this has already happened.’

If that was the sort of inanity that resonated with his pre-teen self, I was rapidly falling in love with this former nerdling.

My well-laid scheme to torture him with silence was replaced by a violent urge to kiss him, whether his father saw or not. After a brief detour to pee, I snuck down the hallway, peeking into room after room, prepared to tell Oz I was lost if confronted.

Behind door number three, I found Zilv asleep. The worst he could do was send me away.

I wasn’t going to stand there all night or anything. Just for a while, listening to his breath. Creeping only close enough to smell him.

“You’re being fucking weird.”

With an awkward laugh, I sat on the side of his bed and dared touch the tip of one finger to his chest. Zilv caught my hand and squeezed, though not hard enough to hurt.

“Go to bed.”

“Can I climb in, just for a bit?”

“No.”

When I pulled back the covers, he didn’t stop me.

He was dressed only in his boxers. Although I couldn’t really see him in the dark, heat rolled off him in waves. I snuggled closer, folding my arms against him, tucking my face to his neck, slotting my legs between his. He was sweaty from the day and I could have laid there inhaling his scent all night. Meanwhile, he was tense, barely tolerating my intrusion.

“You’re cross.”

Such an obvious observation didn’t merit a reply and he didn’t give me one. I nipped his chin.

“You need a shave.”

“I asked you to stay away from Oskar,” he said.

I couldn’t believe that’s what it was. I thought I’d actually done something to piss him off. I pulled him close and said, “Of course, you’re right.”

He clearly needed to hold me in contempt a while longer, but eventually, began to rub my arms and snake his toasty hands up the back of my shirt.

“Why’re you such a little icebox?”

I shrugged and snuggled closer.

“How was school?”

“Uneventful,” I said, which was technically true. Nothing had happened to me in school, because I hadn’t been in it. “Did you find a job?”

Zilv nodded, but remained mum about the details. He might be lying just like I was, so I didn’t inquire further.

“It’s not making much, but it’s a start.”

“We’ll be all right.”

“You don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll sort it.”

It was the first time I realized how worried he was about money. I couldn’t help thinking how much simpler it would be if I could just make enough with my channel to take care of both of us.

“Well, gainful employment,” I said. “This calls for celebration.”

I kissed his throat. He tensed for a moment and then tilted back his head, granting access. His stubble scraped my lips and his heart beat hard under my palm. I wiggled even closer, canting my hips to press our cocks together, despite all the meddlesome fabric between.

Zilv groaned and wrapped his huge hands around my skull. His tongue slipped over the seam of my lips, forcing in, kissing me in his wide open way until I could hardly breathe.

“Why does it feel like ages since I’ve touched you?”

He pulled me flush against him, which felt like a cue to lose my shorts. Zilv caught my hands.

“These walls are paper thin,” he said. “I could always, always hear my parents.”

“I’ll be quiet.” I hopped on top of him and yanked off my shirt.

Zilv ran his hands down my sides and grabbed my ass. “I mean paper thin, Rourke.”

My body was on fire as I grinded like a horny puppy. He was so close to being my first. It was all I wanted on earth, no matter how big of an arse he’d be the next day.

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?”

I reached into his shorts and began stroking his cock behind me.

“Fuck, Rourke. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Rock-hard as he was, Zilv pulled me down beside him, rolled me away and wrapped himself around me - the biggest, warmest spoon in the universe.

“It’s because I’m a lad, isn’t it?”

“It’s because you’re a fucking baby,” he said.

“Who’s going to tell?”

“It’s not just about that. It’s about wrong and right.”

I felt wrong to him. I bit my lip until I was sure I wouldn’t blubber.

I turned around and tried to see through the darkness into caramel eyes. “I’m not a child, Zilv.”

He mushed his hand in my face and nearly knocked me off the bed. At the last second, he caught and pulled me close and turned me away again. I sighed and settled into the soft brush of his breath on my ear. He gently thrust against my behind while I held his arms tight around me and angled back for more until he stopped and apologized.

I’d never especially looked forward to my birthday before. Generally, got a card from Nan and a few quid from my mom. That year worth, I’d invest in a paper calendar to mark the days.

Unless, of course, we split up before then, and it would have all been a waste.

The way he was holding me, easing his hips closer, it seemed more likely that he’d grow tired of the charade one day, throw me on the nearest bed and pound me senseless. That was also an event worth waiting for.

“Zilv.”

He stilled, took a breath and said, “My dad offered me a job.”

I’d just like to point out that I was not thinking at Oz at the time. Zilv was the one with a hard on, talking about his father.

“That’s brilliant.”

“I can’t take it.”

“Why not?”

“Because, he’s an arsehole.”

“Okay, well, I’d like to point out that it’s money, Zilv. If an arsehole walked up to you on the street and said, ‘here, you want some money?’ You’d say, ‘No, stuff your money, you arsehole?’”

He chuckled. “I’ll think about it.”

“Honestly,” I began, knowing I was kicking a hornet’s nest. “Your dad doesn’t seem like such an arsehole to me.”

He tensed. Zilv wears his stress in his shoulders and his chest. If he’s not completely relaxed, he becomes a box.

“You weren’t there, were you?”

“Was he… you know, violent?”

It took a moment before he nodded. “My mum got it worst. I’m just glad she finally left him.”

I was dying to know, but I wans’t going to ask for more detail, if he didn’t offer.

“Once, when I was about six,” Zilv continued. “He went on a rampage about how only sissies need glasses. Then he stepped on mine.”

“I’ve never seen you in glasses.” Maybe not the most profound takeway.

“I don’t wear them in public.”

I laughed, but meant it seriously when I said, “You ought to do a self-help channel. Like, Nerdy to Nice. You’ll have to get some ‘before’ pictures.”

As I outlined the vision for this million-dollar idea, Zilv wrapped an elbow around my neck and pretended to choke me. Then, he leaned over and kissed my cheek.

“It wasn’t self-help,” he said. “It was change or fucking die. Whatever people might think about me now, they don’t make fun of me to my face, do they? If it’d gone on much longer, I’d have topped myself.”

“Because of your dad?”

“He was way out of the picture by then.”

After that, Zilv fell silent a while. I didn’t know what to say, so I kissed his fingers.

“He’s part of the reason I didn’t want to get married. You marry, then it’s children. And I don’t want to fuck up some kid.”

“First of all, why does marrying mean you have to have kids?” I asked. “Second, why couldn’t you just be the sort of dad you wished you had?”

“No offense, Rourke, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Obviously, how could a 15 year old gay male know anything about kids, or marrying, or being a dad? Maybe he was right. There was no point arguing.

Zilv changed the subject. “What’s your dad like?”

“No clue.”

“One of those?”

“Not sure,” I said with the same lack of emotion as whenever the topic came up. “My mum never talked about him. Like I hatched from an egg. At least I never got to be a disappointment.”

“Well, you missed out,” Zilv said. “Tonnes of fun letting your dad down by existing.”

“So, is that you don’t want him to know you’re gay?”

“I’m not gay.”

I’ve always been fascinated by videos of “straight” men fucking other men, or having their cocks sucked by a gay mate. It didn’t seem like the time to launch into a cultural/philosophical debate, so I cleared my throat and replied, “Okay. About us, then.”

“I’m not scared of him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It wasn’t what I was asking.

“It’s not Oskar’s business who I shag.”

“You’re not shagging me, remember?”

“Not yet.” Zilv pinched my nipple. I yelped and he said, “And certainly not here.”

His hand brushed my stomach, but not low enough for trouble. As badly as I wanted him, lying there was as close to perfection as I’d ever had. It was no time to push my luck.

ZILV

Something else happened that night that Rourke may not recall. I tickled his ribs and asked, “Hey. You sleep?”

He moaned.

“What if I wanted to take you somewhere?”

“Like where?”

“Anywhere.”

“Mmm. Bali?” he asked.

“Where’s that?”

“Asia somewhere.”

“Sure.”

It was cruel to bother him while he was trying to sleep, but I’d had a pretty damn lucid dream about fighting and then fucking my dad. Or maybe he was the one fucking. I don’t remember. It was a nightmare.

Better to lay there thinking about how to get to Asia.

“Hey. Who’s Chas?” I instantly regretted the question.

Rourke rolled over in my arms and poked my chest. “You been watching my videos?”

“No.”

“Yeah, you have, because I don’t talk about him.”

“Whatever.” Sometimes I would have liked to strangle the life out of that cheeky little shit. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know,” Rourke yawned and wriggled closer to me. “Some rich bloke always sends me love notes and 50 quid whenever I post.”

“50? Jesus. And what the hell do you do for him?”

“I look pretty on camera and I thank him.”

There had to be more to it than that, but I didn’t want to know.

As expected, Rourke fell asleep in my bed. I carried him back to his room like a little princess, laid him down and then stood there, like a freak, watching him sleep. It would have been much simpler to stop wanting him.


	16. Chapter 16

ROURKE

The following morning, I awoke in my bedroom (Zilv’s old room) again, sighed and went for a pee - Only to find this specimen in the corridor, wearing only a pair of black jersey briefs, counting pushups.

A man doesn’t look like Zilv and do what he was doing except to attract attention. I was sure it was put on to torture me. He was practically having sex with the floor, dripping his precious sweat all over the carpet, but I wasn’t allowed to sleep in his room.

He looked up and asked if he was in my way.

“No, but you’re causing a great deal of discomfort.”

I leaned on the wall and watched until he was finished. He could rob me of my chaste snuggle, but not of the lewd pleasure of watching him work out.

“Don’t you have to get to school?”

“Yep.”

“Why don’t you take your shower while I—”

“No, I’m fine.”

In fact, I let him shower first, claiming to have a late start at school because of testing.

While Zilv was under the water, I snuck into his room and raided his chest of drawers. There wasn’t much there, but he did have one black sweatshirt. I pulled it over my head, snuck into the kitchen where I found a drying towel to cinch around my waist.

Not that I was intending to wear my ensemble outside. Playing with different looks is a passion. When I was small, I used to raid my mum's closet daily for the weirdest and most wonderful combinations.

As I crept back past the bathroom, I stopped dead in my tracks to listen to Zilv, who was singing Coldplay. in the shower. How had I never heard his voice? He sounded better than Chris Martin. Don’t get me wrong, that man has a lovely voice, like a merman. Seriously. Couldn't you just imagine him singing underwater?   
Zilv sings like an angel raised by demons. Deep ethereal tones that stir something inside of me, and my cock besides.

And I never meant to cause you trouble  
And I never meant to do you wrong  
And ah well if I ever caused you trouble  
Oh no I never meant to do you harm

I stood, transfixed, staring at the bathroom door until it opened and he emerged like a demigod in a cloud of steam. Before I could speak, he frowned at my outfit. “What is with you and the girl clothes?”

I blinked, spell shattered. “It’s your jumper, Zilv. And it’s boy clothes by virtue of the fact that I’m wearing it, you blinkered dick.”

“Take it off. Now.”

One hand held up his towel. The other one out to receive his shirt. I dropped the belt, shrugged out of his stupid jumper and bunged it at his face.

Dressed in my own shitty t-shirt and cutoff shorts, I stormed out of the front door. The little boy from up the road was sitting on the trike that had nearly impaled me the day before. He looked up at me as his father came through the front door, shouting, “Thadeus, I asked you to, please, finish your breakfast before you come outside.”

The boy paid him no attention. Apparently, I was more fascinating than his father. Across the street, Lefty yelped his head off. The curly witch was back in her garden, waving good morning at the father. I couldn’t have been arsed about any of them.

Until I got a look of the man’s brash blue eyes. He squinted for a moment and then smiled in recognition. He offered his hand and positively identified me as one of the lads staying with Mr. Gudelianas.

I only nodded and wondered how I hadn’t noticed before that our neighbour had the bone structure of a young Harrison Ford. He didn’t exactly look like him, but I reacted with the same overheated panic as if I’d met a celebrity.

“And your name?”

I hadn’t caught his name and could hardly remember my own. “Um… Rourke.”

“Good. A pleasure to meet you, Rourke. Say hello to Rourke, Thad.”

Thad stared up at me. His eyes a dimmer shade than his father whose smile might have been damaging to the skin. 

“You know, I’m always on the market for a minder.”

At first, I couldn’t imagine why he was telling me that. My age might have given the mistaken impression that I was remotely interested in children. One must draw hard lines in the sand of what they’re willing to do, even for money.

I echoed a less-bright smile, holding eye contact, although he was making me self-conscious.

“Do you want to give me your number?”

“What?” My brain was not firing on all cylinders.

Part of my thought process was actively engaged in not drooling or springing one. The bloke was standing awfully close, smelled incredibly good and was now asking for my number.

“You know, in case…”

He nodded at his son, noisily paddling his tricycle up the block.

“Thad, that’s it. Turn around!” The father shouted and then turned to me. “Sorry. Just a moment.”

He chased after his boy. Carried back child under one arm, machine in the other hand.

“Now, where were we?”

Although I had no intention of ever watching his children, I lacked the presence of mind or the will to withhold my mobile number. Then he gave me his and repeated his name as Ansel.

“Tillman.”

Then he shook my hand, hard and firm.


	17. Chapter 17

ZILV

Does every lad, at some point, try on his mum’s shoes? Or wear a bra stuffed with socks? I only know that when I did, my father responded by knocking me on my arse and calling me words I’d never heard before. 

As a kid, he usually called me the Christmas ham, but after my first and only crossdressing experience, it was Nancy, Rosie or Susie. It’d be, “Oi, Susie, where’s your pigtails today?”

That’s another thing I tried on when I was eight because my hair was long enough and I thought it’d be funny. It was hilarious until Oskar got wind of it. 

That wasn’t the worst of the childhood bullshit. But no, I wasn’t going to go work for him.

On my way to the mall the following day, I happened by a sign for an open house. Since I had a couple of extra minutes, I parked and ran up to the flat. Not that I had any money, but what would it hurt to look? 

The real estate agent stood by the huge dining table. She looked me over, folded her arms, and did her best impression of a bitch pretending to be polite. She cleared her throat and said, “Bit out of your range, love.”

At that moment, I decided I would rent that flat and move in with Rourke, if it fucking killed me. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the time to make that cunt show me around, but I took her card and the brochure with the photos of the place and the purchase price tag.

240K to purchase  
18K monthly rent. 

I literally owned 97 pounds.

I held in the sickened cough until I was back on the pavement. Tossed the papers onto the passenger seat and got to my job five minutes late.

Being a Boots stock boy sucked as much as I’d expected. Carry boxes, put things on shelves, repeat.  
The minutes trickled by until my half-hour for lunch. 

Instead of eating, I had one huge rotting fish to wipe off my plate. It was hard to believe that less than two days had passed since I left Harlow, but I needed to rip off this bandage and be done.   
There was no question that this female was going to bite my head off my shoulders, chew and spit it out, but she deserved a chance to rip me a new one. Even I know it’s a dick move to blow off your wedding.

Anna answered on the second ring, but didn’t speak. 

I started with, “Hey.”

“No bullshit, all right,” she said. “You a fucking poof all this time and never fucking told me?”

“What?”

For some reason, that accusation stung worse than the yelling would have been.

“What was that video then? You and that skinny git in the car.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and had a long exhale. My sister must have shown Anna. It was safe to assume that everyone who knew me had seen that video. Granted, I wasn’t exactly licking Rourke’s arsehole on YouTube. There was still time to explain what was out of context.  
Except it wasn’t really. 

I sputtered for words. 

“You could have just told me, Zilv. Jesus. Do you know how long we spent folding napkins?”

I wiped my dry mouth, sniffed.

“You crying?”

“No, I’m not fucking crying.”

“It’s all right if you do. I guess it was brave. Like Brokeback Mountain or something, inn’t it? I’m like Anne Hathaway.” 

I still haven’t seen the movie, but I didn’t argue. 

“Thank God I could return the dress. That was the right choice, right? I mean, you’re not coming home, are you?”

“Not right away. Mum probably —”

“Oh, God, yeah. She wants to kill ya. I wouldn’t show up there just yet.” 

Anna snickered. Not exactly sick with rage. This was either true love or indifference. 

“Listen, I’m sorry, Anna. You want I should bring back the car?”

“I’ll send Darius for it,” she said. “Where are you anyway?”

It was a nice try. She sounded all calm and forgiving, but one can never be too careful.

“Don’t send him. I’ll leave it in the parking lot at your work by tomorrow night, all right? The key’ll be under the bumper, like always.”

“Yeah, whatever, Zilv,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I hope you can be… you know, happy, or whatever.”

“Yeah, you too, Anna.”

“There’s no hard feelings, really. But I am going to need the four grand back, you know,” she said. “For everything.”

So, besides the fact that I didn’t have four grand, that was that.

***

Seven minutes remained of my break, so I cued up Rourke’s latest upload.

“Hey you guys, it’s your boy, Rourke. Need advice here. So, this guy: Nameless. Gorgeous. He likes me, I’m pretty sure of it. Or at least, you know…” He bit his finger and batted his lashes for the camera. “I think he wants me.”

Of course, I wanted him. How could there be any doubt?

“He said… well, that doesn’t matter. I like him a lot. Anyway, boy tips appreciated.”

As always, he kissed his fingers and flashed a peace sign before cutting transmission. One of my annoying chav co-workers slipped through the back door and asked, “What you watching, mate?” 

“YouTube shit.” I slid the phone in my pocket, took out a fag.

“Any good?”

I shrugged and silently smoked while this bloke proceeded to show me videos of that twit with the wasp's stings.

“Can you believe this wanker is a millionaire?” He said, shaking his head. “Off ads, and sponsors, and that.”

I nodded like I gave a shite, while contemplating how Rourke’s recent livestream had happened just before my break, at noon. It was possible that he was also having his lunch, but that seemed unlikely considering the Starbucks in the background. The dodgy imp was ditching school. The problem was if I admitted I knew, I’d also have to confess to watching his channel. 

After work, I stepped into the mall, remembering Rourke’s jeans had been ruined. Without proper clothes, he was coming for mine. Forty quid at the Gap for a pair.

The very best part of my employment situation was by the end of my 6-hour, part-time, minimum wage workday, I still wouldn’t have earned enough money to buy Rourke a bloody pair of jeans. From a strictly monetary standpoint, I’d have been better off selling gear or engaging in some other illegal activity. Most people take a look and assume that’s what I do anyway.

I couldn’t afford shit.  
And it was time to stop putting off this call. If there was anyone who should love and accept and understand…

“Hey, mum.” 

“Kur tu esi, sūnus?” After twenty years in the country, she still only spoke English when it was strictly necessary.

“I’m in…” I couldn’t rightly tell her where I was. “I’m fine. Just want to let you know, the wedding’s off.”

Some of the words she used I’d never even heard before, and she’d called my father some colorful things in the past. I couldn’t even be surprised that she was angry and scared. 

I’d been contributing to the rent since I was 16 years old. By the time I left, I was up. To half and I was the one buying my little brothers’ clothes and shoes. 

Mum might miss me, but she definitely missed my income. The brilliant plan had been to have Anna move into my room in the old flat, so there’d be six of us in three rooms. Then, Anna would stop taking the pill and I’d wind up topping myself out of claustrophobia. 

I apologized, although I didn’t mean it. Then I promised to send some cash as soon as I got paid. 

She was still cursing when I hung up.

 

***

I dropped off the car that night. On the bus ride back, I stuck in my earbuds and cued my phone to an old favourite: this chick sucking her own huge tits. That lead to a video of her doing the same thing but while bouncing on a stationary dildo. The next suggestion was that same chick but with a bloke sucking her while he did it, she stroked his hair and talked to him like he was a baby. 

At first, it seemed weird as shit and I quickly navigated away.   
Not my idea of hot. She had other good stuff, though. 

At that point, I’d never watched gay porn - perhaps for fear I might never look back. But it was a long ride and I was fucking curious. The first thing I saw on gay PornHub was a video marked as Daddy and son. Don’t ask why I clicked it. The last thing I wanted to see was some father actually pounding his kid. As the film cued up, I sat in paralyzed fear of what I was getting into.  
It turned out to be muscle Daddy fucking a twink who called his top Daddy one single time during the entire ten-minute video.  
There was not a lot of sleep for me that night.


	18. Chapter 18

ROURKE 

I would argue that wasting eight hours a day is far more difficult than having a job. It required a great deal of creativity to do nothing while I was supposed to be in school. 

First thing I did was establish a routine: up in the morning, out on time, fully dressed and with a couple of Zilv’s nerd books in my backpack. The most important thing was to avoid the house and Zilv’s workplace. 

I didn’t hate school. Back at EHS, I’d had a few friendly acquaintances, like Zarya. But I stopped seeing the point in 9th form. Why should I continue going through someone else’s motions? Now, I finally had an opportunity to spend my time the way I wanted: making videos, drawing, mentally preparing for a future of luxury and romance.

On this particular Thursday afternoon, I wandered into a health and beauty shop. Just perusing the shelves. 

“And why aren’t you in school, young man?”

The woman behind the counter was three hundred years old with half-tonne of foundation caked between her wrinkles. I smiled prettily and explained that I was under the weather and therefore hadn’t gone to school.

“Just needed to get out of the house and stretch my legs. It’s so tiresome being ill, don’t you find?”

I coughed into my fist and put on a sad-sick clown face. She appeared reasonably sympathetic, so I carried on browsing until I had a marvellous epiphany. 

“Is there any chance you’re hiring?” I asked. “I do know my way around an eyeshadow pallet.”

“You could always come back and talk with the manager.”

I’d considered lightening the shelves of a few items they wouldn’t miss until year-end inventory, but an image of myself at her age and not yet manager of the shop was enough to make me flee the place. 

Half an hour later, I began to notice a man who seemed to be following me. Dark hair - thinning fast, round, pink face, black Adidas tracksuit. At first, I wasn’t sure. To test the theory, I turned left onto Hanscomb Road. He did the same, brisk steps increasing in pace.

Feeling every bit the paranoid lunatic, I ducked into the Sainsbury and slinked down the canned food aisle. I picked up a container of soup and pretended to read the nutrition facts until he popped up in the corner of my eye. I dropped the damn soup and ran.

Down the bread row, past the produce, through the automatic doors. I scrambled around the back of the store and crouched behind the dumpsters. My heart thudded in my chest while I tried to figure who the Hell he was and what the Fuck he wanted. 

The only thing that came to mind was mafia. Not Russian, because Zilv’s not Russian. Poland or Hungary or something. That wasn’t exactly paramount when I was about to be killed and my lovely body tossed in the rubbish behind a grocery store.

Another one of Anna’s brother’s or an uncle had stalked me through Brentwood. I couldn’t tell if it was one of the three who’d jumped me that night. It was dark then, and I’d spent most of that night focusing less on faces, more on not shitting myself.

The only thing I could think was to film this creep as evidence for the police. I hunkered down beside the dumpster whispering to my live feed:

“Hey, you guys. Your boy Rourke here. This is bound to be a shit quality because there’s some weirdo after me.”

It occurred to me it might be a fan. I only had a few hundred subscribers, but it only took one to recognize me and be odd about it. Maybe he wasn’t even the murdering sort. He could have only wanted a closer look before he called out. Then again, he looked less likely to want fashion tips and more the stabbing with a sharpened toothbrush type.

I held out my phone and filmed the alley for an image of him. 

“Listen, Zilv. If you ever see this, I'm sorry. I’m really …. I only wanted to be close to you… Fuck. I don’t want to die in Brentwood.”

I took off again.

The only place I’d be safe was with Zilv, so I ran toward the Boots, constantly looking over my shoulder. I was about halfway there when I stopped in the middle of the zebra crossing. That homicidal maniac wanted me to lead him right to Zilv. After all, I’d only refused to do their sister’s make up. Zilv practically left her at the altar.

“Shit.”

They’d do far worse than cut off his lip. And I was rather fond of his entire mouth. 

Only I could lead this thug away from Zilv. That meant letting him follow without getting caught. The fucking cloak and dagger James Bond shit that I was born for. I ducked through the neighbourhood, in and out of yards, drawing this wanker to the edge of town. Then, I used a rock and cracked a window on some stranger’s kitchen door.  
Vanished, you fucker. 

I crept in past the shattered glass and sat on the floor, out of sight, for a solid half-hour. When nothing happened, I got up and looked about. Peered through my unwitting host’s mail, checked the fridge. Since it was a bit chilly out, I perused the male’s then the female’s wardrobes and selected a black top with yellow, pink and white roses. Very autumn.

If I was going to wear something clean, a shower would be best. Hopped in for a quick rinse and dressed in my borrowed clothes. The black made me look even paler, which is hard to imagine. My mum used to say I was like the moon - made of cheese. 

Which reminded me that I was peckish. For my trouble, I helped myself to a bag of crisps and settled on the sofa watching reruns of Friends. 

A while later, a blonde came through the front door with an expression like she’d passed the day sucking lemons. I took my trainers off her coffee table and sat upright as politely inquired who I was.

“Oh.” I scrambled for a name I’d read on an envelope. “Friend of Wade.”

Whether that was her husband, brother, or son, I’ll never know. Wade would have some explaining to do. Not me. I stood, handed her the crisps (which were stale anyway) and promptly exited.

 

ZILV

I cracked open the box and began unloading water bottles. There was plenty of space between me and the shelf, but for some reason, my boss, Karli felt a need to squeeze past and rub her tits against my arm. She grinned and whispered a warm apology onto my neck. She was twice my age, but fairly fit. 

As I said, she was the boss. No reason to create contention at work. I smiled back and said, “No worries, love.”

 

ROURKE

I debated whether to tell Zilv that the Kanegis boys had nearly found us. It would be better for him to be prepared. On the other hand, I knew he could take care of himself, and I was safe with him. 

I followed the front manager’s direction to the inventory but actually found Zilv kneeling in the housewares aisle. It was a bit odd to see him in the Boots apron. A new context, but no less sexy. He could wear a garbage bag and still make my knees weak. 

As soon as he saw me, he stood from his work and frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to see you?”

Usually, I wouldn’t have bothered Zilv at work, but after a near-death experience, life warranted celebration. He grabbed my arm and shuffled me toward the back of the store. 

It was a dumb mistake to go there. I had nothing to say. Had wanted to be near him for a few minutes. That obviously wasn’t mutual. 

Zilv didn’t stop shoving until we were out back in the alleyway. Then took a solid look at what I was wearing, put his hands on his hips whilst I held my breath and waited for more abuse.

“You look ... very pretty?”


	19. Chapter 19

ZILV

 

I was just trying to be nice. And it shocked him. The surprise was plain on his face. So what kind of arsehole does that make me?

Rourke had expected me to be unkind or, at best dirty with him, which meant I’d given him a reason to expect that. The truth is, he looked beautiful. Even more than usual and hauntingly so. Maybe something to do with the sunlight. 

For one thing, he’d turned the old jeans into cut-off shorts, a crippling combination of cute and hot.

“Don’t look. Please,” he said, pretending to cover those long, creamy legs with his hands. “I had to do something, didn’t I?”

I’d never seen the rose shirt before, but he looked perfectly lovely and I said so again, to make up for any time I’d made him think the opposite. He’s such a gorgeous kid. It’s easy to forget how insecure he can be. 

I pulled off the foolish apron and tossed it aside. It’d get mucked up, but I didn’t much care. I didn’t want him to see me in what amounted to a flag over my minimum wage job.

Rourke gravitated to a patch of tiger lilies and snapped one of their necks. 

“Oi! What are you doing?”

He looked up, face wide with innocent surprise. “They’re my favourites.”

“Well, you can’t just pick them,” I said, plucking the flower from his hand. “They’re planted by the municipality.”

Rourke frowned and shrugged. I tossed the lily into the woodchips. Rourke stepped closer. I glanced around to be sure we were alone before I wrapped my arms around him. He was perfect forehead-kissing height back then.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Stop saying that, Zilv.”

“Just want to be sure you know it,” I said. “You don’t have to… wonder.”

Or ask the world wide web for advice about it. 

Standing so close, I was already getting a bit turned on. I slipped my fingers under the fray of his shorts.

“Well, I…” Rourke started but didn’t seem able to finish the statement. Instead, he asked, “Will you come with me and have an ice cream?”

He grinned up and the thought of telling him I didn’t have ice cream money cracked my heart. 

“My treat,” he said, reading my troubled mind.

“Your treat?”

He nodded. 

“And where’d you get the money?”

Rourke shrugged. “Does it matter?”

I don’t know what answer I expected. Part of me was a little afraid what he’d say, but I still folded my arms and said, “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.”

“My YouTube money came in,” Rourke said. “Like from my ads.”

“And Chas?” I don’t know why I said his name, but the idea of some stranger sending him money boiled me.

“Do you want ice cream or not?”

As we walked, Rourke geared up his phone and tried to film me. I shut that madness down right away. Also, I wasn’t going to eat any Chas-money ice cream, but Rourke ordered two cones because he wanted to taste both flavours. So, I was left holding chocolate with hundreds and thousands while he started the berry-something.

We walked from the shop to the low brick wall with the Westfield Mall sign. Rourke hopped up and continued devouring his ice cream with a fierce dedication.

I am somewhat less enthusiastic about the stuff and soon had melted sauce running down my fingers. He grabbed it away and licked me clean. Staring into my eyes and batting his lashes like Jessica Rabbit. I wiped a spot of chocolate from his chin and let him lick that from my finger, as well.

He looked like a porcelain doll with ice-white skin, strawberry lips, blueberry eyes. I ached to swallow up the whole thing. As I was sitting there figuring why this lad turned my insides to useless mush, a girl walked by us. I could feel her eyes on me, but what caught my attention was Rourke’s sour reaction. His nose crinkled and he turned to watch her pass. 

His watching felt like permission to watch, as well. She certainly had a nice arse.

“You like her?”

Anna played that same game. It’s always a trap. 

“I don’t know her,” I said.

“Yeah, but would you fuck her?”

I could have lied, but I couldn’t see the point. After all, Rourke wasn’t Anna. He was a bloke and maybe he was simply asking a question. Shooting the shit, like. 

“Yeah. ‘Course.” I leaned forward to get a final look before the girl rounded the corner. 

“And that one?”

He nodded at a brunette in a miniskirt. 

“If we’re talking strictly about shagging, I’d do just about any bird walks by here.” 

There. Honesty.

Rourke nodded. “And the blokes?”

I shrugged and pulled out my carton to smoke. “Some of ‘em.”

“Would you fuck that guy?”

It was some middle-aged Maths teacher with a poor combover. I cocked my head and gave him a good look. “Yeah, maybe. Get a little sloshed. I’d stick it in.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure,” I said, lighting my fag. “End of the world? Just me and that guy, I’d bang the shit out him.” 

It’s a rather a fun game if the other person isn’t screaming their head off at you.

Rourke calmly asked, “And how, exactly, did you come up with that scenario?”

“My point is, most everybody’s got something fuckable about them, haven’t they? That guy walks like he’s got an incredibly tight arse.”

Rourke did not laugh. Clearly needed to work on my comedy.

“Is there anyone you wouldn’t fuck?”

“Maybe.”

“So, you’re a whore?”

I laughed. “I’m a lusty fellow.”

He patted his hair and watched the people pass. It was clear that I’d handled that entirely wrong, though I wasn’t sure why. I’d been honest. Tried at humour. 

“You’d fuck anyone but me?”

“Look,” I said. “This is hypothetical, right? You’re bloody beautiful, Rourke. You know that. Come on. Any bloke out here would die to be with you.”

I poked him with my elbow. The acid expression didn’t budge.

“What about you?” I asked. “See anybody you want to pound?”

“I don’t usually think of it that way.”

It took a moment to process that. “You prefer getting pounded?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“What do you mean, you think so?”

“I mean… in theory, that interests me more. “

“In theory?” I took a long drag. “Haven’t you?”

Rourke pursed his lips and didn’t reply. He was basically refusing to look at me, making me quite nervous.

“But you’ve sucked your share of cocks, I’m sure.”

“Are you sure?” His breath was getting louder. 

“I wasn’t … Jesus. I wasn’t your fucking first, was I? Why didn’t you say something? I was … I wouldn’t have… Jesus, Rourke.”

I’d basically wrecked this lad’s mouth, utterly fucked his face on his first sexual encounter. This was precisely the reason I didn’t want to touch him. I was a bull, he was a perfect, untouched vase in the centre of the China shop.

“I liked it.”

“Shit.” I tossed my smoke, trying not to lose my temper and prove my own point. After all, he wasn’t the one who’d been an animal with a little virgin.

“Zilv.” 

“What?”

“No one,” he said. “There’s no one else I’d want to … have me. Only you.”

Rourke hopped down from the wall and stood in my path, looking up. His pretty hands were on my chest, glossed lips waiting.  
There were people on all sides of us, passing, waiting for a bus.  
And I couldn’t do it. I hadn’t been a huge fan of public affection with Anna. But this was worse. Call me chickenshit, but I’d never kissed a lad in front of a live audience and I wasn’t ready.  
Rourke backed down, adjusted his shirt, gazing back at the mall. It was the end of my break anyway.


	20. Chapter 20

ROURKE

I was back at Oz’s place with nothing to do but wait for Zilv to get home from work. So, I sat on the porch steps with my chin on my knees, watching Oz push around the non-powered mower. Every few minutes, he’d stop and wipe his forearm over his brow and glance up at me. Looked like pretty miserable work.

He was just getting the front lawn finished when that neighbour woman from across the street - the one with the dog and the hair - came bounding over, large breasts heaving like a cartoon character.

“Hey there, Mr. G,” she said shoving a glass of something green and viscous into his hand. “Just thought you could use a pick me up.”

She was wearing a flowy, full-length flower-print dress. The black corkscrew curls were tamed in a wild ponytail. Both she and Oskar waved at Ansel and his kids as they spilt noisily from their front door into their sedan.

He still hadn’t called me about minding his kids, which was good, considering I didn’t want to do it.

Oz smiled stiffly and sniffed the rim of the glass. He took a breath and filled his cheeks with the liquid. His hummed appreciation didn’t exactly echo in his eyes. It appeared to require a feat of advanced self-control to actually swallow it.

“Argus root,” the neighbour lady smiled. “For a boost of energy.”

“Mm,” Oz repeated and forced down another gulp.

“So, why don’t you get your young friend here to help with the mowing?”

“Thanks, but no,” I said before Oz got a chance to think that was a good idea.

“Have you not met Rourke?” Oz said, likely grateful for the break from drinking.

The neighbour scanned me. “Not properly.”

Oz introduced me and Raevn, and with her hand shoved in my face, I’d have been a prat not to shake it.

“My son’s friend.”

“Lovely,” Raevn said. “Reminds me of Holden.”

Oz nodded his agreement. Since I had no idea who or what Holden was and neither of them bothered to explain, I shrugged and watched as Oz compelled himself to finish his matcha root.


	21. Chapter 21

Each night, I grew a bit less worried that Zilv would turn me away and far more eager to fold myself into his arms. Small and safe. The two of us sleepy together. It was as though we lived our whole relationship between his sheets between the hours of midnight and dawn. Days couldn’t pass quickly enough.  

At the time, it was more than enough. More than I’d ever had. My Prince Charming was handsome, kind, and perfectly happy to spend half an hour kissing my neck.

When I snuck in that night, I stumbled upon Zilv sitting in bed with a book in his lap, spectacles low on his lovely nose. I shut the door and stood in awe.

“What?”

“You look so fucking hot.”

He winced, whipped them off. Folded and placed them on the table on top of his book, making room for me to climb onto his lap.

“They make you look older and kinder.”

“What does that mean?”

“Gorgeous. I wish you’d wear them out more.” I kissed him.

“And I wish you’d get your hair cut.”

“Deal.” I carefully placed the glasses back on his face.

“I’m not wearing these things in public, Rourke.”

“Fine.” I sighed and pulled my phone from my pocket. Once I’d cued up to record a video, I said, “Sing something.”

“You recording?”

“It’s not live or anything.”

“No way.”

“For me,” I said and swore not to share.

Still, he refused.

“You’re mean.”

At that, he took my phone and restarted a previous lesson. I was to roll over and lay with my back to Zilv’s chest. I did as I was told, smiling under the magic of his warm mouth behind my ear, rapidly escalating from touching, meddling and fondling myself to full-on wanking. His cock was hard and pressed against my arse, but he hardly even moved his hips. In a matter of minutes, my body coiled tight enough to snap.

“Now pull back,” Zilv said, tugging my elbow.

Teaching me to edge was hopeless. Once I was close, I was done for.

“I can’t,” I huffed. “Oh, fuck. Zilv. I’m gonna come.”

He gripped my hip and whispered, “Then, come on, baby.”

Then he clamped onto my neck, sucking until I'd spilt all over my hand, a shuddering, moaning wreck. I rolled onto my back and focused on breathing while he cleaned me with a cool rag and then gently pulled up my knickers like the perfect gentleman.

“The service.”

He kissed my knee and left to toss the cummy rag in the hamper. Once I was recovered, I could concentrate. Sadly, he wouldn't let me pleasure his fabulous body. But I could still be of assistance.

Zilv had already quit his inventory job at Boots. It wasn’t a debate anymore. All he required was a pep-talk before starting work with Oz the following day.

“So, tell me again,” I said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I’ve told you, Rourke. I don’t want to be dependent on him.”

“And have him let you down?”

“At all,” Zilv sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders square with stress. “It’s weird enough being here without going to work with him.”

“I can understand that.” I slid up behind him so I could rub his back. “On the bright side…”

“If you say —”

“Your dad makes killer coffee.”

I kissed his shoulder and he actually tittered.

“Hey,” Zilv whispered. “I was shit to you this afternoon.”

I instantly knew what he meant, but laid my cheek on his shoulder blade. “Were you?”

I wasn’t going to admit how humiliated and vile it felt to have a man who claimed to love me outright refuse a kiss because people might be watching. He’d already said that he wasn’t gay, which meant I was an anomaly he hadn’t figured out. Every kindness was its own wonder.

“Yeah. I was,” Zilv continued. “I wanted to, Rourke, but…”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s…” He sat up and wiped his face. “I want to explain.”

“You don’t have to —”

“Yes, I do. I’ve never, in my life, had anything against gays," he said. "My mum's not a bad person, but her religion, you know. And my dad..." Zilv shook his head. "But I always thought it was great for people to just be whoever they are. Makes the world more colourful, like."

It was the most awful, awkward conversation I’d ever been part of. “OK.”

“But I’m not, like…”

“Yeah, you’ve said.”

Zilv wasn’t gay. I’d gotten that memo.

“I mean, I realize being with you means... something about me,” he said.

Well, fucking hallelujah. That was probably as close to coming out as I was ever going to hear from him. I nodded solemnly and let him finish.

“But it’s not everybody’s business.”

Of course. “OK.”

“Kissing a bloke in public—”

“Zilv. It’s over.” Let it freaking rest.

“You think I’m a coward.”

“I did not say that.”

“Yeah, but you’re thinking it.”

“I think you’re making a very big deal out of this,” I said. “I totally understand.”

“You understand that your boyfriend is a coward, and you’re okay with it?”

I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing. “Are you?”

“Not generally, but in this situation, apparently—”

“My boyfriend?”

He turned to face me. “I thought … Am I not?”

I was perfectly speechless for a moment. Then, I jumped onto his lap, put my entire weight onto his shoulders and pinned him down so I could kiss the hell out of him.

“God. Am I your first boyfriend, Rourke?”

“You’re my first everything, Zilv. You’re just going to have to get used to that.”

“Have you had anything at all with another guy?”

I’d had a great deal of flirting and naughty talk with lads on the internet. I’d also experienced some very racy evenings with phallic produce. Zucchini beware.

Zilv shook his head. “I don’t even know how many girls I’ve shagged.”

“Nice. Thank you.” Could have spared that detail.

“God, I feel like such a creep with you.”

“You’re not a creep,” I said and kissed his cheek. “You’re my boyfriend.”

He ran his fingers over my scalp, using the back of my neck to draw me closer. “I just need a bit more time.”

“I don’t care whether anyone else knows about us.”

I kissed him over and over, every inch of his face until he made me stop. Then I sat on his stomach, marvelling at his lovely dark skin over his solid muscle. So perfect and wonderful and miraculously mine.

“How was it for you when you came out?”

“Out of where?” I asked. "People take one look at me and they know, Zilv. I’ve never wanted or been able to hide. It’s probably a lot easier than making some grand confession.”

He tensed. The idea of being so exposed horrified him. “Listen, I’m… “

I held his face between my hands. “I. Don’t. Care. As long as you’re with me, I… it’s already…”

I pinched my lips together to stop from crying again. It had already been enough of that. But I’d take him however I could get him. It didn't matter one bit what went on in public when I could lay over his warm chest, basking in his steady heartbeat.

“Would you sing to me, please?”

“I can’t sing, Rourke.”

“I’ve heard you.” I poked him. “Please. To make up for your fearful ways.”

He chuckled. “What do you like to hear?”

“You know any Morrisey?”

“I do not.”

I forgave the contemptuous tone. “Anything you like, then.”

Zilv hesitated a moment and I thought sure he’d decline. Then he cleared his breath and began:

 _Honey, you are a rock_  
_Upon which I stand_

I laughed. I knew it. Coldplay.

Lying so close, his voice wasn’t just a sound. It rumbled deep in my chest, in my belly, almost as if I was singing. He hadn’t even reached the chorus before I was hard again. Zilv went on while I rutted against him like a damn rabbit in heat. Groaning and grinding. He gripped the back of my skull and the base of my spine.

“That’s it,” he said. “Take what you need.”

“Sing. Please.”

I panted against his throat. Before he’d reached the breathy end of the song, I came all over his belly like a little kid. Zilv lay on his back, completely hard, but rather than touching me or himself, he stared at the ceiling. Still gasping for air, I rolled beside him and reached over.

“Shall I--"

“I’m fine.” He removed my hand.

“Are you a monk?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Rourke.” He turned and looked at me. “In any way.”

“What if I want to be hurt?”

He touched my cheek. “Won’t be by me.”

_And honey you should know_

_That I could never go on without you_

_Blue eyes_

I’d never been much of a Coldplay fan before that night. Now, I can’t listen to them at all. Always get aroused.

In the hour before the birds began chirping, I collected my clothes. Tossed my knickers on Zilv’s face. “If you are a creep, there’s something to sniff.”

He slapped my ass before I could hop away.

As luck and timing would have it, as I was bouncing down the hallway with nothing on my bottom half, Oz stepped out of the toilet. All I could do was cover with my hands and say, “Good morning.”

Then I slid into my bedroom and tried not to die from holding in laughter.

 

ZILV

After Rourke left, a porn-fueled wank was required if there’d be any sleep. I set up my phone and pounded one out to a Daddy/son video.

From there, I sank into a rabbit hole that led to another homemade film with a bloke about my age cradled in the arms of another man who didn’t look much older. The younger one was wearing a nappy and sucking on a dummy. All I could do was blink at the screen at this pair of batty, weirdos. But I didn’t quite manage to turn it off.


	22. Chapter 22

I straightened the collar on the shirt I'd borrowed from Oskar and followed him into the office. I didn't love wearing his clothes. For one thing, they were loose and ill-fitting. Only our arms were the same length. I’d respectfully declined the offer at first, but he insisted we ‘put on a good front to tamp down natural concerns about nepotism.’

That hadn’t occurred to me since I had no intention of telling his other employees I was his son, but one thing I had to get used to was that Oskar was the boss. He insisted on a button-down shirt. Until I could afford to buy one, I’d begrudgingly accepting his generosity.

My plan for getting through the day was to repeat Rourke’s mantra: Yes, arsehole, I will take your money.

I’d worked in construction, food service, retail, and the club industry, but this was my first entry into an office environment. I can’t say it felt instantly welcoming. There was one tiny window overlooking the rest of the industrial park. The secretary had a picture of her dog on her desk. Otherwise, the room was tiny and spare and reeked of either off-gassing paint or plastic.

Before the door had closed behind me, a round-faced redhead grinned up from her receptionist’s desk. The clacking of her keyboard came to an abrupt stop so that for a moment, the only sound was a menacing mechanical hum somewhere in the background.

“Morning, Mr. G,” he chirped. “And who’s this handsome lad.”

Despite the formal greeting, it was perfectly obvious those two had fucked, at least once. Who knows? Maybe it was part of the general hiring process.

“Marla, I’ve brought in the new recruit,” Oskar said presenting me. “This is my... Zilvinas.”

“That’s a lovely name,” the secretary said.

“God, Oz.” Another grey-haired man entered the room with a steaming cup of coffee. “What’d you do, spit him out?”

“The resemblance is striking,” Marla agreed, though no one had asked for her input.

I shook hands with Oskar’s business partner, the American, Bob Carter, who I didn’t recall but obviously remembered me.

“Well, now. Would you have a look at this.” He mock-punched my gut. “Where’d it all go?”

Bob sat his mug on the secretary’s desk so his hands were free to duck and weave and pretend to spar with me. I did not play along.

“You should have seen him, Marla. Chunky little fella. What was it you called him, Oz?” He laughed and half-perched beside his mug in that way men do when they own property and play golf. “Easter something or other. How’ve you been, kid?”

He asked, as if I’d been on holiday for the last ten years or so.

Yes, arsehole, I will take your money.

Marla chuckled on cue. I suspected she fucked them both. All in a day’s work. Meanwhile, Oskar had blanched. Who knows what had embarrassed him, but he began shuffling me a golden plaque with his name on it.

“Welcome to the outfit, Zilv,” Bob shouted. “Best be on guard, Oz. He’ll be coming for your desk.”

Once the door was closed, Oskar made a grand show of sighing and shrugging an apology.

“The Christmas ham,” I said, in case he’d forgotten what he used to call me.

“Zilv, I—”

“So, what will I be doing?”

“Right.” Oskar bounced around his desk and rubbed his hands together. “First of all, this is for you, courtesy of the company.”

It was a laptop computer. I’d never owned one. It was the sort of luxury I had no need for and had never bothered to save up for. At the time, I couldn’t recall my email address. Computers were not part of my daily life.

“You understand what we do here?”

I did recall that my father worked in auto parts imports or something of the sort. When I said as much, he smiled.

“You’ll recall that Bob and I started out as a pair of no-nothing mechanics. I saw an opportunity for a niche in the market. Bob had the capitol,” he said. “Thank God, I had the sense to go to business school first. Since we opened our doors twenty years ago, we’ve done nothing but grow.”

He could have spared me the advertisement and gotten right to the job description.

“Bob’s right, you know.” Oskar nodded thoughtfully and sat. “I mean, if you’re interested, of course. And not immediately today, obviously. But I’d love to be able to pass on my share in the business.”

I scratched my head. “And today?”

“Of course.”

He started by printing a badge for me and explaining that guests to the site were infrequent, but it’s best to be prepared. I pinned the name tag onto my breast pocket and listened to his idea for the position he was creating for me.

In short, I’d be a roving representative.

“You’re young,” he said. “You look the part. If you don’t tell them you’re not a mechanic, they’ll never know.”

Of course, I’d have to learn the basics so I could carry on a conversation with these blokes. A great deal of the work would be carried on in pubs, just taking clients out, showing them a good time. Oskar was already considering an additional company car for British travel: my opinion on a model would be taken into consideration. Eventually, there might be international travel involved, to places like Germany and Japan where their biggest suppliers were based.

The more he talked, the more clear the picture became. Neither of us needed to state how unqualified I was. Oskar was confident that I’d learn as I went. For the time being, I’d work out of the corner of his office. Before long, I’d be out in the field anyway.

Then there was the matter of pay. He must have squared the number by Bob. This might be one place the nepotism thing came up. How else would someone with no experience in the field come in with a starting salary of 60K/year?

This was my father’s apology, as loud and as plain as it would ever be.  
I kept repeating Rourke’s words in my head. Yes, arsehole, I will take your money. It’s not forgiveness. It’s a matter of survival. And it wasn’t just for me. As always, I had mouths to feed.

I don’t know if he did it every day, but Oskar sprang for lunch, as well.  
By then, I’d begun an online typing course, as well as registered for auto mechanics 101 on a website Bob recommended. All this was paid training.

Yes, arsehole, I will take your money

It was a damn good sandwich, too. I was thinking of thanking Oskar for everything when he put down his lunch and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin.

“So, I haven’t been sure how to say this,” he began. “I’m quite surprised your mother hasn’t already done. This business with you and Rourke, it troubles me.”

I stopped mid-chew and placed my sandwich back in the wrapper. I dropped my name tag on his desk and spat the rest of what was in my mouth onto the pavement outside of the building.


	23. Chapter 23

ROURKE

“That was really delicious, Oz,” I said. “Thank you.”

Not that he’d prepared the meal, but I didn’t even want to calculate what the bill would be for the five of us. Me, Zilv, Oz, Raevn (the across the street, hippy-clothes dog-lady) and her very strange, emo-boy nephew, Holden. The moment I expressed my gratitude, Zilv and Holden grimaced as if manners are against the moral code of our generation.

This was especially annoying because I didn’t know the other lad, and Zilv couldn’t be arsed to tell me what had happened between him and his father. He’d just come home all sweaty and in a huff, demanding I pack my things and we go.

I had to beg, bargain and plead with him to accept his father’s dinner invitation rather than to jump on the next bus to wherever. As a show of support, I’d hooked my foot around Zilv’s ankle at the start of dinner. He hadn’t stopped glaring long enough to eat the steak I ordered for him, because he was too stubborn to speak.

Wonderful food: scallops and wild mushroom risotto on my plate. Soft jazz, dimmed lights, dancing candle flame, and fresh, living flowers. Not to mention the prices on the menu. Oz was going out of his way. I couldn’t understand why he’d brought the dog-woman or her creepy nephew, but here we all were.

He’d even sponsored a new pair of trousers so I wouldn’t have to come to dinner in cut off jeans. The man was trying, and Zilv was giving him absolutely nothing.

When Raevn tried to start up a conversation about when Zilv was younger, I understood that she was there for Oz’s moral support. She was also the person who requested I stop filming dinner. The nephew was still a wordless puzzle. He and Zilv were having a tongue-holding competition. Oz tried to start a few times, but never got past, “Listen, I just…”

Zilv would look towards the door and inhale so loudly, it drew all the wind from his father’s sails.

By the time I’d finished my lavender-infused creme brûlée, I was perfectly stuffed. I’d also had it with the chilly atmosphere at the table, so I excused myself to the loo. My bladder was hardly empty before Zilv burst into the room and dragged me into a stall.

I could tell by the way his hooded eyes that it wasn’t a romantic gesture.

“We did the dinner. Now, let’s go.” His breath was warm on my face.

“Where?” I asked. “Where are we going? We have no plan. You’ve said yourself, we have no funds, Zilv.”

I wanted to beg him to listen to his father. To let the man apologize and make amends, but I’d seen him angry and this was worse. He swatted my hand from his cheek, breathing like a chased fox.

“Listen, Rourke. He knows. We probably shouldn’t have even come to this dinner.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. Now, can we leave?”

“I don’t really care what anyone thinks of us.” I hated to say it, but it had to be done. “And for someone who hates his father, you care an awful lot what he thinks.”

For a moment, I thought he might hit me. Without another word, Zilv stormed out of the bathroom.

I washed my hands and was checking my face when the nephew entered. When Raevn introduced us, I’d offered my hand. He’d responded by standing there gawping, which was exactly what he did when he entered the bathroom.

I turned away from the mirror to face him only because I didn’t want my back to him. The first thing I did was count his piercings: five visible. Gauges in both earlobes, studded left eyebrow, bull's ring, lower lip.

Who knew what I couldn't see?

The bone-straight death-black hair he wore swept over his almond eyes was probably nature’s doing. I wasn’t so sure about his snowy icy pale complexion. Lips slathered swamp-green. Vest black leather. Slipknot t-shirt. Ripped fishnet stockings under black shorts. I don’t know where on earth he found olive-green combat boots, but the boy was fucking fabulous. And horrifying.

There were kids like him in my old school, but they mostly kept to themselves. I’d certainly never had one staring at me in a small, secluded space. There was one tiny window too high for me to reach. I could call out for Zilv, but he wasn’t likely to hear me through the bathroom walls. The best thing I could do was make peace, be friendly.

“Um… Holden, right?”

“I’m supposed to chat you up,” he said without a trace of a smile. “Because all queer teenagers are compatible.”

I snickered. “As if all gay boys instantly—”

"I'm neither of those things."

“Oh.” Perhaps he could tell by the vacuous look on my face that I was lost.

"My pronouns are they and them,” Holden explained. “And I’m pan.”

Although I’d heard the word, I wasn’t well-versed on the meaning of pan-sexual. “So, do you, like, fuck animals? And plants?”

I immediately wished I could swallow my tongue. Holden blinked.

“I haven’t,” he said. “But a mate’s engaged to a tree. I suppose if I fell in love with a plant I’d fuck it.”

I did not understand, but I nodded.

Holden jerked a thumb back toward the restaurant. “And what’s with you two?”

“Nothing,” I answered too quickly.

“Right. That’s why he keeps looking at you.”

“Who does?”

“The son. Not the father. The father fancies my aunt.”

“Oh, I hadn’t…”

“So, you two aren’t together?" he asked. "You and Zilvinas?”

Somehow Holden managed to pronounce Zilv’s full name exactly the way Oz did. I could never get the Z-G sound and the accent to make it roll off my tongue the right way.

“No,” I said because I wasn’t sure what Zilv wanted.

I had no qualms about lying to this weirdo stranger. It was only a bit sad not to shout from the rafters that Zilv was my boyfriend.

“He’s straight, actually,” I said because I was an idiot.

“Hm. Well, then he’s in for a treat.”

“Which means?”

“This is my aunt’s version of aggressive acceptance. I suppose Oskar is going for the same impression.”

“You live with her?”

“I’ve got to finish school here. My folks are in Spain.”

Mention of his parents brought up the fact that other than a bit around the eyes, he bore no resemblance to his “aunt,” who I would have thought was a black woman.

“This is, maybe, going to sound racist…”

“My mother’s Japanese. She and Raevn have the same father.”

“Who’s black?”

“Why does it fucking matter?”

“It doesn’t,” I said. “I was just curious.”

Ethnicity is always such a dodgy topic if you’re not ethnic yourself. I’ve often wondered if a Pakistani and a Jamaican can have a conversation about their genetic background without it turning into this awkward mess. Anyway, I didn’t say they all should leave. I was just fucking curious.

Holden turned the question on me. “And where are your family from?”

“Originally?" Nan was all the origins I had to go on. I answered, "Liverpool.”

Holden snickered and shook his head. “Twat.”

Was this the beginnings of peace?

“You two really not together?”

“No,” I insisted. “We’re not.”

Holden nodded and turned to leave. “Good.”

It was only after he was gone that I began to feel the weight of spending my life as Zilv’s nasty secret. 


	24. Chapter 24

ZILV

The only reason I didn’t walk away from the dinner was morbid anticipation. I was waiting for Oskar to show what an arse he really was. Rourke might get hurt, but then he’d see that my father wasn’t so terrific after all.

Also, Rourke was right. We had no means, no destination. The only option was to go home. I was still too cowardly to return to Harlow with Rourke on my arm. And I didn’t want to lose him. So, I followed Oskar and the lot of them into the pub next door.

The place was called The Manhole. The rainbow flags might have been a giveaway if I’d been paying attention. It wasn’t until we entered and I realized that Raevn was one of three women that I figured out where we were.

The bass thumped too loud to think. Lights almost too low to see through the musky air. Door to door, men: gyrating in sweaty pairs, huddled in dark corners. I didn’t look too closely for fear I’d see something I couldn’t unsee.

While the goth boy’s expression never changed, I suffered a brief, strong urge to turn and flee. Rourke gripped the back of my shirt like someone would dip him in their drink and swallow him whole. Actually, I was glad to have him close, so I could be sure that didn’t happen.

Raevn wore the same amiable smile she’s plastered on for dinner. Oskar’s face shifted through a series of positions and landed on wide-eyed amazement. He’d paid our entrance and had our hands stamped for a new Disney ride.

“Drinks?” He shouted over the music.

Raevn put in her order. The goth boy was 17 but only asked for cranberry juice. Rourke was the only minor among us and took the same. Since I was still in silent mode, my lad called out for a scotch for me. Oskar eagerly slipped away and fulfill the task.

He’d hardly returned to the table when a bloke with a blue mohawk took the stage and tapped the microphone. “Attention! Last call for contestants.”

The music scratched to silence. All around us, patrons hooted between their hands. Raevn leaned to the nearest man and whispered in his ear. Her brow raised as he answered. Then, she smiled and passed the word to her nephew who whispered to Rourke. An adult game of Whisper Down the Lane.

By the time the message got to me, I heard, “Miss ya, Piehole.”

I had no idea what that meant and wanted no part of it. Rourke’s hand was on my back and I willed myself not to brush him off.

“You should do it,” he said.

Raevn grabbed Oskar’s wrist and shouted. “I volunteer Oz as tribute.”

He swiftly jerked away, smiling uncomfortably. “No, no. Surely, they don’t mean old farts.”

A pair of hands landed on his shoulders as the man behind him leaned close and whispered. Oskar huffed awkwardly and thanked him. Then, he returned to his laser focus on the stage.

“You, too, pal.”

The stranger was an American who explained the contest was to find Mister Right Now. The crowd would decide the hottest man in the room. The audience was already hyped and shouting for the six competitors on the stage to get undressed.

Rourke gestured. I shook my head before he could even speak. He hooked his hand around my neck and tugged me closer.

“Whether you go up there or not, you are, without question, the hottest man in this room.”

Blue eyes shining, even in the near-dark. I wanted to kiss him, so badly, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. All I could manage was a feeble smile. By the time I looked up, Oskar was halfway to the stage.

“All right, we’ve got our last taker for tonight’s grand prize of 500 quid.”

 

ROURKE

I couldn’t have been more surprised if Zilv had leapt onto the table and started tap dancing. One of the guys on the stage reached down to offer a hand as Zilv he onto the lineup.

“Let’s hear it for our boys.”

The crowd went mad. Seeing as he’d skipped dinner, Zilv looked as though he’d lose his lunch. Face almost purple in the spotlight, his eyes locked on the EXIT sign.

The announcer, whose given name probably wasn’t Mo Richards, walked down the line, collecting names, ages and professions. There were eight of them, each more attractive than the next. Still, Zilv and Oskar stood out, first of all, because they were like seeing double. But there was also a poise about them, dignified despite being out of their fishbowl.

Holden moved closer to me and began complaining about objectification in gay culture. I shushed him when it was Zilv’s turn.

“Gentlemen, I believe we have a Manhole first,” Mo announced. “Real-life father and son.”

The crowd went mad. It was full five minutes before the MC brought them back to order. Even then, there were whoops and applause. Of course, Zilv and Oskar hadn’t introduced themselves as father and son, but there was no way to ignore it.

“So, are you both gay?”

He held the mic for Oz first who quickly said, “No. I mean, I’m not. He… I—”

“Well, you’re both stunning, aren’t they?” Another eruption from the audience. “Let’s welcome Oskar and his son to the manhole. We hope you’ll have so much fun, you’ll come again and again.”

Lewd laughter and on with the show. Judged entirely by audience reaction, the first round was whittled from eight to five, based on looks, style and first impression.

“Which means fuckability,” Holden said. “That’s all any of this is about.”

Of course, he was right, but I failed to see the problem.

The second time the moderator came to Zilv, he repeated his name. “That’s nice. Is it short for something?”

“Zilvinas.”

“Oh, fuck. That’s hot.” The crowd laughed. “I could moan that all night.”

He pronounced it wrong, like I did. But it stung like a betrayal hearing him try.

The second round would be judged on talent. If the contestant couldn’t think of a talent, one would be provided for them.

The first guy tried to sing Adele, but he was pants and subsequently booed off during the first verse. Another bloke performed a monologue that wasn’t bad, but was sad and wrong for the time and place. Then, it was time for Hannes, the only man who offered any real competition. He was blond and pretty and certain of his own superiority.

Even I could admit, he was terribly fit. If he won, Zilv wouldn’t have been cheated.

He asked the DJ for an Ariana Grande song and began bumping and grinding like he’d been paid. First, his shirt flew into the crowd. The guys went crazy, battling until they’d ripped the thing into four strips. Hannes was ripped. Bigger and thicker than Zilv and his hips did not lie. When he began to unzip his trousers, I figured Zilv could kiss the crown goodbye.

Hannes dropped them to his ankles, turned and began to flash his crack when the moderator stopped him. I have no idea why.

“See what I mean,” Holden said. “A bunch of sex-crazed Neanderthals.”

I was beginning to wish he would shut up or leave. The crowd loved Hannes, and with very good reason. He was fucking fabulous.

Still, the cavemen hushed when Oz recited some old poem about a shepherd. Shakespeare, maybe. Anyway, he earned respectful applause. Then it was Zilv’s turn.

“Sing!” I shouted between my cupped palms.

A couple of guys turned to see what I was going on about. I yelled it even louder. He must have heard me.

Zilv cleared his throat and asked, “So, what sort of talents do you provide?”

The crowd loved that question and immediately began shouting suggestions. More than a few requested he wank, which I couldn’t blame them for at all, but would have made me very uncomfortable. I’d come to think of Zilv and his lovely, thick cock as my personal property, although I wouldn’t get to see, touch or taste it until my birthday.

Finally, the MC pointed to the crowd and selected one. “All right, Zilvinas. Let’s see how many pushups you can do.”

Zilv dropped as if he was born for it. At twenty, the audience started to hum. At thirty, they were squirming in their chairs. By fifty, I was half-hard myself and Zilv hadn’t even slowed down. The moderator had to stop him.

“We can’t be here all night, love.”

The crowd howled as Zilv stood and rolled back his shoulders. That one tiny movement sealed his victory. It certainly made me want to fall on my knees and worship him.

“All right gents, we’re down to our final three contestants. Our last category is the shirtless competition.”

We’d already seen Hannes down to his shorts. In the meantime, he’d righted his pants, but was clearly prepared to get naked on stage. Oz, however, raised his hands and forfeited.

The crowd booed and hissed. Even the announcer said, “Aw. Too bad. You were my favourite, Oskar.”

Someone jostled my arm and said, “Same here.”

“Zilvinas, your dad is fucking fit, mate,” the man spoke into the microphone. “And he’s a damn good sport. My old man would rather be mugged and stabbed than seen in present company. Let’s have another hand for Oskar.”

Oz waved at the crowd and they warmly received him with applause and hoots until he sat down at our table. I could see on Zilv’s half-sneering face that the support for his dad was becoming a deal-breaker. His shoulders raised as he drew a deep inhale.

“You in or out?” the moderator asked. “Remember, we have a 50-pound tab for our runner-up. Let’s give it up for all the boys tonight. Oskar, call me. Zilvinas, let’s see what you’ve got, lad.”

Zilv looked directly at me as he pulled his polo shirt loose from his trousers, all that stunning intensity in his hooded eyes. I bit my lip and swallowed thickly, wishing we were alone where I could touch him and tell him what he already knew.

He pulled the shirt over his head and let it hang from his hand. The crowd lost their shit. Even Holden muttered, “Jesus Christ.”


	25. Chapter 25

ZILV

Once we were alone in my room, I let Rourke count the cash. He tossed the whole stack into the air and watched it flutter to the bed like we were in a rap music video. Then he turned to me and lifted my shirt. I ducked so he could pull it over my head.

“You should have sung.”

“I don’t sing, Rourke.”

“You sing like an angel,” he kissed my chest. “And you look like a god.”

Another kiss sent a light chill over my skin.

I’ve never felt ugly, but I know I'm not much to look at. Rourke is stunning. That goth kid, Holden, was captivating, and not just because of all the makeup and the piercings. He had these stone grey eyes and a constant pout that made him hard to ignore.

But me, I was, I am… nothing special.

Even after I shed all the baby fat, I was a window for girls to look through. It wasn’t until I bulked up, started running with Dov, and winning fights that I had the confidence to even approach females. Then, I at least I could offer protection. Whatever money was left after I'd helped out my mum went to taking them out. I wasn't a looker. I was a fortress. 

Rourke's fingernails scraped eight pink stripes down my chest. “Is this really mine?”

“All yours.”

“When are you going to let me—”

“You already know that.”

He paused for a moment, clearly debating whether to speak further. “After tonight, do you still think Oz is the devil?”

After the competition, Oskar had pulled me aside to congratulate me on my win, and to clarify that he had no problems with my sexuality - whatever it was. His concern was with Rourke’s age. I told him he needn’t worry. Rourke was mine to care for.

“Never mind," the lad said. "I’m sorry I brought it up. We were celebrating.”

He slung his arms around my neck and stood on his toes to kiss me. I filled my palms with his tight little ass and lifted him from his feet. The idea struck me like lightning.

“I want you to call me Daddy.”

“What?”

“Not… in public, obviously.”

Rourke smiled. “Zilv, you’re five years older than I am.”

“It’s not about that.”

He laughed - not a cute, flirty laugh, but sort of a jeer as he pointed out, “I can't very well call you Daddy whilst you live with your father.”

I pushed him away harder than intended. He stumbled against the chest of drawers and grabbed his ribs. None of it was premeditated. I hadn’t even caught up with my anger when I said, “You should go.”

He didn’t argue.


	26. Chapter 26

ROURKE

It didn’t require an advanced degree in Relationship Dynamics to patch things up with Zilv. All he needed to do was let me blow him. Of course, he wouldn't do that, so there was no hope.

I don’t even know why I said those bitchy things to him. I lay in bed, wanting to apologize all night, but instead, I dug my nails into my palms and cursed myself.

When I woke early the next morning, Zilv’s room was empty. Oz was gone, too. The place was completely quiet. Maybe they’d left for work together. That meant Zilv was capable of forgiveness and making peace with someone.

And if those two were at work, I had the house to myself. It’s not like I knew anyone in Brentwood and if I did, they’d all be in school. So, I couldn’t exactly throw a party, but still, there is a sweetness about being home alone. I could spend the whole day naked, pretend to do cooking shows, if I wanted.

I peeled off my shirt and dropped it on the living room floor. The new trousers Oskar bought me went down a few yards later, followed by my underwear. Sweet freedom.

The house was all warm with the scent of Oz-brewed coffee and I could only hope he’d left a bit at the bottom of the pot.

I stopped dead, heart jumping against my ribs, as Holden spun around on a stool at the breakfast nook. He took a bite of a green apple and looked me over from toe to skull.

“Nice toe polish.”

“What are you even doing here?” I scrambled to find and pull on my clothes.

This lad had an uncanny habit of turning up where he didn’t belong and making me feel out of place, out of sorts, and as if my skin was ill-fitting.

If he was striking all dressed and painted black, he was fully staggering without his makeup. Picture Tom Wisdom as Midnight Mark, in black skinny jeans and a Kill Your Darlings t-shirt: a perpetually smart and naughty look on his omni-ethnic features. Either he combed his coal-black hair over his face or it fell that way.

Once I was dressed, Holden explained, “Thought we’d walk together to school.”

“How kind,” I said keeping my distance and diverting my eyes when he took another bite.

Without further warning, he tossed the apple at me. I fumbled to catch it and failed. It thudded to the floor and rolled away.

His company gave me such fierce jitters that I skipped the coffee, collected my backpack and pretended to be ready for school. My genius plan was to walk with him to the schoolyard and enter, if necessary. Then, I’d make a run for it.

“Well, then,” I said. “Shall we?”

“You know, you can cut the bullshit.”

I stood in the middle of the floor, blinking stupidly.

“I’ve never seen you, and I’d have remembered.” Holden folded his arms. “So, where do you actually go?”

I scratched my neck, considering the variations I could give. “Mostly, I make YouTube videos.”

“Seriously?”

I shrugged. When he asked, I told Holden my handle and poured my coffee after all, while he began to peruse my videos.

“Look, we can’t stay here,” I said once I’d finished. “In case one of them comes home.”

“Fine. Lead the way.”

 

***

 

I wound up following Holden into Cafe A’Moore, where I kept my face low lest the girl behind the register recognize me as the prat who’d stiffed her a few days earlier. It was impossible to steal from behind a glass, so I figured I’d be watching him eat. I folded my arms and pretended to give a crap about the shoddy art on the walls.

“Rourke, what’re you having?”

I shook my head.

“On me.”

Eventually, I’d get more ad money and pay him back. As I wandered over to consider my options, the girl behind the counter narrowed her eyes in near-recognition. She was trying to place how she knew me. Before the turd hit the first blade of the fan, someone called her away.

The young woman who replaced her beamed at me and Holden and said, “You two are so blooming cute together.”

“Thanks.” Holden hooked an arm over my shoulder.

I elbowed him in the ribs and he pulled me close enough to smooch my temple before he let me go.

Since I’d skipped breakfast, I let the prat treat me to a scone. Then we strolled down the High St, him glued to his mobile witBluetoothetooth earbuds in while I tugged his sleeve and made sure he didn’t fall into a ditch. Every now and again, he’d huff, but I couldn’t tell whether it was out of amusement or contempt.

At the traffic light, Holden pointed to his phone.

“That’s not any Polish mafia, you know. He’s the fucking truancy patrol officer. Comes to the school once a year. Does this presentation on attendance. A right wanker. Must think he’ll be more effective if he’s dressed like a dealer.”

That was a humiliating relief. I could take the paring knife out of my backpack and quit looking over my shoulder.

We stopped on a park bench. Holden couldn’t have watched them all, but he’d consumed enough of my content to form an opinion.

“So?”

“Well, that’s definitely your best one.”

It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement. “But?”

He shrugged. “A bit tame, isn’t it?”

“Tame.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say lame, but… it’s pretty damn dull, Rourke. I mean, do you even know who your audience is?”

I shrugged. My audience was whoever watches YouTube, which is everyone on earth.

“Have you thought about catering to the hand that feeds you?”

“Meaning?”

“How bluntly can I speak here?” Holden asked, as if he was the sort to mince words. “You’ll be 16 your birthday, right? You become legal, which automatically makes you less interesting to the viewers who get off on fantasies about underage lads, like yourself.

It was a mildly disgusting, incisive theory.

“If you want to make a fortune, Rourke, give them what they crave.”

“Such as?”

“Not makeup videos, you twat.” He bumped his shoulder against mine and then began to mimic me. “What’s up, it’s your boy, Rourke, talking about homework, in lingerie.”

What?

“Or eating Cheetos while I wank, off camera, of course. These are examples. I mean you don’t have to. You can go on cashing in on your face, because you’re obviously beautiful. Or, you can give the people what they want.”

It took a moment to recover from this exquisite creature calling me beautiful. “Thanks.”

“Whatever.”

Right. Whatever. It obviously didn’t mean anything, which was good because I had a boyfriend. At least, I thought I did. Last time I checked, Zilv and I were still together, such as it was. Then he’d shoved me into the furniture and kicked me out of his room. So, there was that.

“Do you have a Channel?” I asked.

“I did,” Holden said. “Got banned.”

“Let me guess. Holden with Cheetos and lingerie.”

“Mm. Holden attempts a very public suicide.”

“Oh.”

He grinned and shook his hair from his face. “Didn’t take.”

“Clearly.”

He spread his arms over the back of the bench, casually encompassing me and running a finger down my arm. There was no one around, but anyone could have seen us.

“All I’m saying is, you’ve got something profitable now. You honestly never should have told them how old you are, because no one would know. They’d drive themselves fucking insane guessing. Now, you’ve got to work with what you’ve got.”

 

***

 

On Holden’s request, I demonstrated my preferred method for breaking into a stranger’s house. On his suggestion, we chose a yard with no cars in the driveway, but with plastic kiddie toys strewn about the grass. That’s how we wound up in the home of Doug and Monica Landever (as indicated by their post).

Holden slathered on Monica's darkest lip and eye colour. It was a deep plum that transformed him into the intimidating spectacle I’d met the night before. Then, he pinned his hair into a bun at the top of his head. He smiled when I failed to conceal my laughter.

“Then, fix it.”

I tried to do something with his hair that looked less stupid, but the drizzle had made him a frizzy lost cause. Finally, I wet it with sink water in my hands and tamped it down over his face, turned him into a horror film.

“Better?”

“Much,” I said, still snickering.

I tried on one of Monica’s dresses, but she was a plus-sized woman and I looked like a clown in her clothes. The little girl’s things fit better. Holden sat on the edge of her princess canopy bed, a perfect audience for my hour-long fashion show.

Though I wasn’t as crazy for pink polka-dots and unicorns as my young hostess, some of her skirts were quite adorable. I waved and blew kisses while Holden photographed with his phone.

“Your legs are insane,” he said.

I flashed him like Marilyn Monroe. On a whim, I suggested we have tea and cucumber sandwiches. For a while, we lounged on the sofa watching telly. I ignored him inching closer. But when he buried his face in my neck, I pushed him away and stood up despite the heat surge.

“So, show me what you meant,” I said blocking the screen. “Help me make a better video.”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Holden grinned and slipped to the edge of his seat. “What do you think your subscribers want more than anything on earth? Why do they watch you?”

I shrugged. “They like me?”

“When in doubt, remember the Manhole. Everything is about sex. They watch because they want you to suck their cocks, Rourke.”

It was an incredibly cynical view of humanity. “What about the girls?”

“Them, too.”

Who was I to argue? In fact, my dumb eyes flickered over Holden’s crotch. With that shirt hanging past his thighs it was impossible to tell how he was hung. He was every bit as skinny as me, but that said nothing about his cock.

I shook the thought from my head. “You can’t give a blowjob on YouTube.”

“No, but you can be creative.”

Holden skipped off to he kitchen and returned with a banana, a pork banger, and a grape-flavored ice lolly.

“Each of these has its aesthetic advantage,” he said. “As your director, I’m going to recommend this one.”

He handed me the iced pop. Holden held the phone and counted down like a professional, “Three, two, one. Action…. Start with your thing. Your opening.”

“Um, hey. It’s your boy, Rourke. I’m not entirely sure what’s about the happen, but, here we go. Is this live?”

Holden shook his head and told me to unwrap the ice lolly. I rolled my eyes as if I was annoyed instead of growing hard. Then I parted my mouth.

“No. Not yet.” He painted the freezing thing back and forth over my lips and smiled. “Now, that’s hot.”

I swallowed hard and tried not to meet his eyes. Every time it happened, I grew a bit weaker and less in control of the situation.

“Open.”

I did as I was told and let Holden slowly slide the lolly in and out of my mouth. He filmed with the other hand, his own lips parted and hungry.

“Shit, Rourke.” He pulled the treat from my mouth. “Show us your tongue. God, yeah.”

Holden took a few slurps himself, licking along the sides, holding my gaze like a promise. All I had the power to do was blink.

“I think that’ll do,” Holden said. “Sign off.”

“Um… til next time?”

“We’ll cut out my voice.” Holden put down the phone and dropped the ice pop on the table, smirking like he’d just invented anal plugs. “And, if that doesn’t boost your ratings, I don’t know what will.”

“I can’t post that.”

I also couldn’t move from where I was seated if I didn’t want to be caught with a raging boner.

“Why not? Have a look.”

He perched beside me with a hand on my shoulder, watching along as I witnessed myself giving head to a children’s sweet.

“Hot, isn’t it?”

I leaned away, glancing at his smile from the corner of my eye.

“I say you post it today. If they take it down, we put it on PornHub.”

“I’m too young.”

“I’m not.” Holden cued up the video and started watching a third time. “I’ll post it on my page. Add some music, if you want. It’s a bit tame for my audience, but we can boost it to the blokes who’ll love you. Girls, too, probably.”

Zilv knew that my channel existed. I wasn’t sure whether he watched videos on PornHub, but it seemed pretty likely. I couldn’t decide whether I’d be mortified or gratified for him to see this. Of course, there was always the possibility that it’d make him so jealous that he’d forget what a prat I’d been.

Holden busied himself cleaning up the mess we’d made in Doug and Monica’s lovely home. It honestly wouldn’t have occurred to me to do that. His hair turned wavy again once it was dry. He must iron it to bring off the bone-straight style he’d had the night before. I sat there, watching him with my chin on my fist until he turned and grinned.

“What?”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Us young queers have to stick together, don’t we?” He said. “Also, I was thinking you’d put in the good word for me with your mate.”

“With Zilv?”

“Yeah. He’s fucking fit."


	27. Chapter 27

ZILV

I slipped a hundred quid into an envelope and mailed it to my mother. I folded another 250 inside the brochure for that overpriced flat. There were certainly cheaper places to live, but my mind was set on giving Rourke that key in a ring box for his birthday.

See, Babe. I worked my butt off and got us this amazing place where I can fuck you silly all the time. Starting right here and now on the bare floor.

Rourke came in around six in the evening. I didn’t have to wonder how he’d spent the time, where, and with who. All I’d had to do was wait for his latest video to post.

He stopped cold the moment he caught sight of me, waiting for him on the sofa with a tumbler of scotch. I’d been a short-tempered arse and he had every right to avoid me. Or not to want anything more to do with me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, put down my glass and walked over to him. I slid my hands down his arms and gripped his hands. “Won’t ever happen again.”

How many times had my father say those words to my mother? I’d never actually heard him trying to make it up to her. It just seemed like the most logical, natural thing to say when you’ve been a brute, pushing smaller people around.

“Rourke, I… didn’t mean to…”

I cupped his cheek in my hand and swallowed more cliches. He looked up, shivering like he was anticipating a slap.

“I fucked up,” I said. “You want to hit me back?”

His face crinkled for a moment. Then he chuckled and punched me square in the sternum. I huffed out a breath, clutching my chest. The little fucker can strike.

“I don’t know why, I…”

Of course, I knew why. That shit is genetic. It’s learned. And I had it both ways. I’d only ever gotten out of line with Anna that way once or twice. She was the type of woman to take a frying pan and challenge me. It was what I liked best about her. The only reason I ever thought the marriage could work.

“You can’t hurt me,” Rourke said. “I’m indestructible.”

He stood on his toes and wrapped his arms around my neck. His lips tasted like sleep syrup you’d feed a sick kid. I rubbed a thumb over his mouth thinking he’d done a poor job washing off lipstick.

“What have you been up to?”

He rubbed eagerly at his own face now. “Just… you know, school.”

“Yeah,” I said, fighting the urge to shake the truth out of him. “Listen. I want to take you somewhere.”

Rourke grinned and asked me where. But it was a secret surprise.

***

I’ve always hated riding the bus with all the tired grannys and noisy kids. So, I hired a car for the afternoon, a Porsche, despite how dear it was.

It was worth every penny when Rourke’s brow lifted. “Where’d you get it?”

I let him assume it was mine. For the afternoon, it was.

“Where are we going?”

He was beginning to get anxious, looking about for clues about our destination. I smiled to myself, shifted gear and drove in silence. I even let Rourke hook his phone to the speaker system and play his awful music.

I went for valet parking at the mall. When I made my offer, his eyes grew wide. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

It took him an hour of flitting about the store to select a lavender women’s blouse. Rourke looked at the tag and shook his head. I didn’t want to know the price.

Instead, I asked, “Do you have to be Eddie Izzard?”

“You said, ‘anything’.”

“I’d rather you find something in another department.”

He ran his hand over the fabric, mumbling. “Why did you even bring me here?”

“Why are you being so techy?”

“Why am I… Zilv, you pretend like you’re doing me a favour, but really, it’s just another opportunity to judge me.”

I looked around to be sure no one was watching before I leaned in to whisper, “I don’t know how else to say this, but being gay does not give you permission to wear girl clothes.”

He shook his head and walked away, just as a shop-girl approached, probably to ask us to keep it down.

“Can I help you find something?”

“What do you think?” Rourke held the shirt in front of himself. “Would this look good on me?”

“Well, you’d have to try it on, I suppose. But with your figure, you could likely get away with anything. Do you want to step into the dressing room?”

Rourke rolled his eyes at me, hugged the blouse and flitted off to find a male fitting room.

“You know, you really shouldn’t encourage him,” I told the girl.

“Personally, I think it's great you’re out here with your little brother, supporting him and that.”

There’s no way anyone could ever look at me and Rourke and think we were brothers unless that’s what they want to see. I nodded.

The girl cocked her head, and I heard the words before she asked. But it wasn’t the classic, ‘don’t I know you from somewhere?’ “This is going to sound a bit odd, but your name isn’t Jill, is it?”

I knew what she was trying to say so I simply corrected her pronunciation and added the ‘v’ on the end.

“Oh my God!” She squeaked. “I knew it. I told my co-worker. She thought I was just...”

People stared as they passed. I’ve never enjoyed being the centre of attention. All I could do is wait for the hyperactivity to end so she could explain how she knew me.

The girl touched her ample chest and introduced herself as Kit Barret. The name meant nothing, but her face was vaguely familiar

“We were in primary school together,” she said. “I don’t expect you to remember.”

“No. I do,” I lied.

“Really?” Kit smiled. “It’s been... Whatever happened to you? I mean…”

She looked me over from the head down and back again.

“I looked a lot different back then.”

Kit raised her brow but didn’t comment on that. “You were pretty much the nicest lad in our class.”

“Thanks.”

“Then, you were just gone. Someone said you’d been kidnapped.” She laughed and touched my arm where I’d crossed it over my chest.

“No. Nothing like that.”

I shifted my stance hoping it would shake her loose, but she gripped my forearm and went on prattling.

You can tell or ask me anything you like. Please just remove your hand before…

Rourke came out dressed in his blouse. Kit must have seen the devil in his eyes, because she promptly excused herself, saying how nice it was to see me. Rourke turned back the way he’d come and disappeared into a stall in the men’s fitting room.

The only word to describe the situation was, “Fuck.”

It wouldn’t do to glance under the doors, so I knocked on the one I thought was his. An older man opened and gave me the glare I deserved. I stepped out of his way.

“Rourke, please.”

I scratched my brow and strongly considered leaving the store altogether.

“Can we not do this here?”

I received no reply, but another man left a stall, eyeing me before he hurried away. Now, there was only one door closed. I knocked lightly and said, “You do realize, don’t you, that you’re in the closet?”

Not even a titter.

“She touched my arm, Rourke. My arm, okay? And it wasn’t even… As flirting goes, if she’d been flirting, which she wasn’t, it couldn’t be more harmless.”

I would have liked to point out the activities I’d seen on his channel, the shenanigans he got up to with Holden. Hot or not, I wasn’t exactly pleased to watch him eat out of another lad’s hand. Though I could certainly understand the boost in his numbers. The two of them had onscreen chemistry and there didn’t appear to be anything Holden wouldn’t say.

The trouble was, I still hadn’t let on that I watched Rourke’s channel at all. I didn’t want him to know or to feel like he couldn’t have a mate without me giving him trouble for it. When she came along, Anna had dismantled all my female friendships. Of course, I’d fucked or been fucking all those girls, but it was the principle.

“Do you want me to go wash my arm off or what?” I asked.

“How about you chop it off? Then we’ll talk.”

“Listen, I think it’s sweet that you’re jealous, but there’s nothing—”

The door swung open. “I’m not jealous. I’m fucking angry.”

If I’d thought dating a bloke would be dramatically different from a female, this was not one of those moments. He flounced away. I took a deep breath and followed him into the store.

“Rourke!”

He acted as if he hadn’t heard me. I ran ahead, blocking his path forward. I grabbed his face between my hands. This was it. Now or never.

I kissed him. Not deep or with a bunch of tongue, but unmistakably and as publicly as I’ve ever done anything.

“Okay?”

Rourke nodded, gripping my shirt. “People are watching.”

“I don’t care.”

He dropped his brow to my chest, folded himself into my arms. There were a few starers, but screw them, you know. I couldn’t remember why I’d been so dumb about it.


	28. Chapter 28

ROURKE 

Dinner was my idea. The rest of it was courtesy of Holden’s evil genius.

Okay. We’d expected Raevn to cook the dinner, but Oz ordered it from his Thai restaurant, and we all sat around the table at Raevn’s place. There were so many plants that her house felt like rainforest seating. She’d tamed her hair into braids or something, though, so that was a start. 

The food smelled amazing, but we weren’t allowed to touch it. We’d agreed that our hands were to remain folded on the table. Oz and Raevn heaped their plates full and then passed one of the containers my way. I wasn’t allowed to acknowledge them, or the meal in any way. I stared at the wall. 

“Are you not hungry then?” Raevn asked.

My belly growled in reply. I folded my lips between my teeth. She narrowed her eyes at Holden, already suspecting something. 

“So, do you lads have any classes together?” It was Oz’s turn to try, and fail, to make us speak. 

He glanced back and forth between us like he was working out advanced maths. The entire plot was on his behalf. It was obvious that he and Raevn had some sort of fever, even if all they ever did was fuck once, and get it out of their systems.

When I asked Oz why he’d never done anything about it he’d shook his head and said they didn’t have much in common. “What would I even say to her?”

Holden’s response to that was to concoct this plan. Absolute fucking poetry.

“What is wrong with you two?” Raevn asked, voice slightly elevated and irritated as she put down her fork and shook her head. “I swear, he was a normal, adorable lad.”

“It’s not really a problem, is it?” Oz asked. 

“It is, though. It’s perfectly unnerving. Like a pair of robots,” she said. “If you won’t speak or eat, then you lot can leave the table.”

***

 

All I could do was wait until the house was quiet and hope for the best. On this particular night, I. Went all in: full face, Victoria Secret black bra and panties, as well as a pair of fishnet thigh-high stockings. I knew Zilv didn’t like it, but it made me feel sexy. In for a penny, I slipped into black satin stilettos and a Chinese dressing gown I’d found on consignment, and tiptoed down the hall. 

I stood outside of Zilv’s room with my heart pounding in my ears before I knocked lightly and entered. He was laying on his bed, watching something on his phone. When he saw me, he sat it aside and raised a brow. 

If I was waiting for a comment, it wasn’t coming, so I let my dressing gown fall open and crawled as slowly and seductively onto the foot of the bed as I could manage. He was already stiff, so I could knew what he’d been up to. 

The warm, aroused scent wafting off him was like. heroin. I lowered my face to breathe him in . Zilv even let me drop a brief kiss onto the damp front of his shorts. I bit my lip and smirked up at him, taking a handful of his crotch.

He sat up and snapped the back of my bra like a teenaged footballer. “Where’d you get all this?”

I sat back on my knees and adjusted the straps. Holden had hijacked them from his aunt’s collection. Zilv removed one of his pillowcases, wet it in the glass by his bed. Without asking, he began to scrub the makeup from my face. Rather than argue, I closed my eyes and let him.

“You’re perfect without all this.”

Holden had said precisely the same thing. He’d also asked me to put in the good word. I straddled Zilv’s lap and told him, “Holden likes you.”

“What?”

“Raevn’s nephew,” I said. “Remember from dinner?”

“Hard to forget that freak show,” Zilv said, finishing his cleaning touches by thumbing at the corners of my eyes. “What makes you say that?”

“He makes me say it. He personally asked me to tell you. So, I’ve done.”

“Huh.”

“He’s quite fit,” The words spill from my mouth before they’d been vetted.

“Is he, then?”

“I mean, if you like skinny twinks.”

“Twinks?”

“That’s what they call, you know, boys like me.”

“There’s only one boy like you.” Zilv kissed my cheek. 

I closed my eyes as his mouth journeyed along my jawline, down to my neck.

“So, do you think I should I go out with Holden, then?” He asked.

I held my tongue. It had, of course, occurred to me, that if Zilv could see him looking like a normal human being, rather than an extra in Van Helsing, that he couldn’t help find him attractive. 

“He’s legal,” I said.

“So, are you. Almost.”

Zilv’s hands slid up my sides. As if he’d been doing it all his life, he unlaced and cast aside a bra that had taken me twenty minutes to put on. He kissed the center of my chest.

“Almost,” I repeated. 

Both of Zilv’s wide, warm hands traveled up my back.

“Tell me something,” he said. “Why do you insist on this girl stuff?”

We were going to have this conversation again, but this time in private. I steeled myself against whatever abuse was coming and asked, “Did it ever bother you on Anna?”

“Not the same, is it? Besides, don’t talk about her.”

Now he was telling me what to say. I huffed. “Too precious a topic for you?”

“She’s past tense, Rourke. You don’t need to mention her ever again.” 

“Fine.” 

I adjusted so I was seated square on his hard cock and began grinding, working him up whilst sucking his bottom lip. I was going to fucking make him come, but all at once, he pushed me off and climbed out of bed.

Breathing hard, I dropped my head back. “You’re fucking killing me.”

He dipped, rearranging himself in his shorts. “I swear I’m going to fuck you silly, every single day after the third of August.”

“Promises.”

“Do you doubt it?” 

I only shrugged. Zilv had a drink of water and sat on the side of the bed, tracing a finger tip around my nipple. Cruel. I began to stroke myself and asked about his first time.

Zilv paused for a moment, apparently reminicising. “It was sloppy and embarrassing and brief.”

“Who was she?”

“Just this slutty girl I’d wanted to shag for a year. We were both proper sloshed at a mate’s party. I never talked to her again after that night. Romantic, right?”

“And where’d you meet Anna?”

“Rourke.” He wrapped a hand around my throat. “I have never known anyone like you. Never wanted anyone like this before. It’s nothing to do with her. I just want to get this right.”

I didn’t understand, but he seemed so sincere that I nodded. He slid his finger back and forth across my lower lip before sliding it into my mouth. Just as my temperature hit the roof, Zilv said, “I’ve got something I’d like to try, if you’re willing.”

There wasn’t anything on earth I wouldn’t have done for the man. He had to know that.

When he pulled a small white box from his top bedside drawer, my imagination let me believe it could be a ring and I nearly swooned. Then he brought something out of the box that I couldn’t quite place. It was silver or stainless steel, but the shape didn’t compute.

“Is that a plug?”

“Not exactly.”

I was absolutely, positively prepared to present my ass and have him stuff me, but that’s not what it was at all. It was a dummy, like for a baby, only metal. I blinked as he pressed it to my mouth. It was cold and heavy and I couldn’t quite work out what was happening. 

I took it out. “You like this?”

Zilv nodded. 

“Okay.”

I plopped the dummy back in and sucked. It was a bit like sucking his finger, only weirder. 

“God, you look so adorable, with your big eyes.” 

His eyes never left mine as he began rubbing himself. He wanted me on my hands and knees at the foot of the bed, watching with utter awe as he pulled out his thick, meaty cock and began to beat off furiously. 

The scent of him, and the grunting. The way the muscles in his arm and chest and thighs twitched when he was close. 

There was a knock on the wall and Oz’s muffled voice from the other side. “Thin walls, lads!”

I smiled and rolled my lips between my teeth. Zilv was clearly too close to the edge to even care that his father could hear him. I reached between my own legs, straining to match his pace. With the dummy still between my teeth, I leaned toward him. Zilv growled, grabbed my head and drew me closer. As if it were my birthday already, part of his load shot all over my cheek. 

Before he could stop me, I spat out the pacifier and licked his hands and his cock clean. Smiling like a child, I climbed onto his chest. 

Zilv wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you, baby,” 

“God. Thank you.” I kissed his face all over until he laughed. 

Eventually, I laid down and let Zilv cuddle himself around me. He even hummed a verse of Twinkle Little Star. Perfectly odd, but I said nothing. Before I fell asleep, he told me he’d been hired as a server at the Manhole.


	29. Chapter 29

ZILV

I returned a credit card to the table and wished my guests a pleasant evening when my co-worker Pam came over and pointed out a table that had requested me specifically. By that point, my employment in the Manhole was going so well that the owner, Paul, offered me shifts at his restaurant, The Press Room, as well.

On my first day of work, I’d been cornered by a sous-chef who wanted to blow me during our break. A polite, "No, thank you" wasn't clear enough and the guy reached for my crotch. I found myself with my hand around his throat, hissing that I was straight and had a girlfriend. I also promised to break his face if he tried it on again. I'd blurted it all in reflex defense mode, but word traveled quickly and I never corrected it. After that, staff left me alone.

The other problem was that customers liked me. Being in demand shouldn't have been a problem, but sometimes it was. They seemed to enjoy that I was what Paul called, "deliciously sullen."

“I’ve already got five tables.”

Pam shrugged. On my way over, Mo (the bloke who’d hosted the Mr. Right competition) and his now purple mohawk eased up to my shoulder. “Listen, whatever they say, just smile and nod, yeah?”

He’d been helpful with that kind of advice. Likely, Mo was the only reason I wasn’t in gaol. There was an incredible amount of ass-grabbing in both establishments. Somehow, I’d learned to take Mo’s advice and the generous tips that came along with the territory.

Pam’s table held three smartly-dressed silver-haired gentlemen, business types. Usually good for a decent gratuity. I gave the same service regardless of whether it was a vagabond American tourist or a table of barristers discussing their most recent case.

“My name is Zilv,” I passed out menus. “I’ll be your server.”

The one seated nearest me gestured vaguely. “What was the long version again?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your full name,” he said. “It was something sexy and foreign.”

I nodded, wrenching the smile into place. One of these. That was the challenge of working for Paul Curie’s restaurant, as well as his night club. Sometimes, the clientele blended. I was one of three males on the staff who worked in both establishments. When the Manhole’s nightlife trickled over into the Press Room, it was often with a raunchy aftertaste.

“Zilvinas.”

“No, no. Say it the right way.”

I pronounced my name the way my parents do. They all grinned and nodded like it was a circus trick.

“So, are you gentlemen interested in hearing the specials?”

“What is that anyway?”

“I’m sorry.”

“The name,” the group spokesman had a thick head of waves and a smirk like I was on the menu. “What is that, Russian?”

“No, actually,” I said. “It’s Lithuanian.”

“I bet that sounds hot in bed.”

His compadres chuckled. “Watch out. Curt’s about to have one of his Jamie Lee Curtis moments.”

“Well, let’s hear a bit.” Curt, the leader of this pack of giggling, albino jackals, leaned forward with his chin on his fist. “Say something, won’t you?”

It would have been very easy to say that my parents never spoke it around the house. Give him the basic hello and goodbye and be done with it, but I could already see this man’s past: tiny dick, bulging pockets, cash falling out of it in exchange for the tiniest attention.  
So, I leaned in, just a bit, and slurred the lyrics to the Lithuanian national anthem.

“Holy, fuck,” he stared into my eyes. “Lads, I think I’m in love.”

“Well, I’m actually hungry,” one of his mates said and we were finally able to change the subject to food.

The others ordered while Curtis continued with his laser focus on my rise within the organization.

“What’s it been, six months since you first took that stage?” He asked. “And I mean you took it.”

“Thank you, sir.” I made an effort to loosen my smile. “It’s been almost three months.”

“I’m surprised, Paul doesn’t have you dancing yet.”

“Well, I’m not… I’ve seen me dance.”

Curt’s buddies laughed. One of them nudged their mate, urging him to back off. I couldn’t agree more, but I also couldn’t say so.

What I could do was ask, “So, will you be ordering, sir?”

“Mmm.” He looked me over. “I do hope so.”

I offered another forced smile for his poor joke.

“What would it take to get you home?”

I swallowed the desire to stuff the menu down his throat, smiled and nodded.

The man toyed with his lip, looking me over. Finally, he quit. “All right, Zilvinas. Why don’t you choose for me? I trust your tongue.”

One of his mates flicked me an apologetic look. “Watch out Curt, he’ll bring you the most expensive thing on the menu.”

“I don’t mind paying for quality.”

I turned from the table, completely expecting an arse grab. It wouldn’t be the first time and this Curtis bloke was the type. Amazingly, there was no unwanted physical contact. And I could offset the annoyance by seeing Rourke during my break, like I did most workdays.


	30. Chapter 30

ROURKE

Audience questions started sparse and irrelevant. Someone wanted to see my feet. Another wanted to know if I could suck them, which physically I could, but refused to do on camera. As a compromise, I sat up in the bed and demonstrated that I could reach. Then I laid on my stomach beside Holden with the screen in front of us and our feet on Oz’s pillows. Lefty lay between us like a little chaperone.

When there was a lull, Holden had no difficulty coming up with questions for me.

“First kiss?”

“That’s not a question,” I said. “Next, Missy375 wants to know if Holden is attracted to horses.”

“Generally speaking, I only crush on human beings, but I suppose there’s anything’s possible.”

We’d committed to twenty minutes of Live Q&A in celebration of 20K subscribers. When I met Holden, I hovered around 300. I’d earn enough for a weekly ice cream. In the months since, we’d split 1500 pounds between us and the numbers were climbing every day.

It was no wonder. Holden was a genius about this stuff, and he wasn’t afraid to try anything. I’d have paid to watch him. While we waited for the next audience question, he asked me if I’d ever eaten arse.

“No,” I answered truthfully, as we’d sworn to do.

“Had yours eat—”

“Oh, look,” I said quickly. “We’ve got a … oh. Well.”

I laughed uncomfortably as Holden leaned closer to the screen and smiled. “Sure, I can do that. Rourke, roll over, please.”

I shook my head and strained for something clever to say that would turn my discomfort into a joke. Holden put the dog down by our feet and rolled me over himself. He lifted my shirt and blew a raspberry on my belly.

“Okay,” I laughed, covering up again. “Enough.”

He smiled and went back to the screen. “How was that? … Oh, yes. Now, this is getting good. Hold still, Rourke.”

There was no warning, no time to prepare when he straddled my chest and began tickling my armpits.

“No, no. Stop. That is no—”

“The people have spoken.”

I swatted and fought and Holden accidentally knocked the laptop onto the floor as he pinned my arms above my head. Neither of us seemed particularly concerned about his computer. Holden licked his lips and I froze with absolute terror.  
A silent second passed before he laughed, let me go and retrieved the laptop, setting it up at the end of the bed again.

“You all will excuse our technical difficulties.”

My body still tingled from his touch and he was laying only a few inches away.

“You cross?” He asked.

“Shut up.”

Holden smiled and then pointed at the next request. We knew it was coming.

The very first day he made an appearance on my channel, we had a tonne of comments asking if we were together. It was the classic insta-ship: Rourden, we were called. No many how much I insisted we weren’t a couple, people continued requesting a kissing video.

Holden, of course, had suggested we give the people what they want. Some of the people, however, were less enthusiastic. Zarya, for example, wrote me privately to ask where Zilv was and if he knew about all the gore make-up and Harry Potter role play and everything else I was doing with “my freaky little anime character” as she unkindly referred to the best friend I’d ever had.

Chas wasn’t too impressed either. He wrote to tell me that Holden was ‘a lively, but far less attractive co-host.’ But there were no complaints about the racier content, and he went on sending his donations.

Holden’s hand fell on the back of my neck. I held my breath as he leaned closer.

Then, like a knight in a fairytale, Oz entered the room.

“What is this?”

I popped up into a seated position and shooed Lefty onto the floor. Oz’s appalled expression was fair considering that we had set up our video shoot in his bedroom. It was only because he had more space in his bed and I figured he’d be downstairs at his desk until much later.

“What is this?” Oz repeated.

Ever ready to ride the moment, Holden turned the laptop so the webcam would feature the intruder. There were seven minutes left in our session.

“This is Rourke’s adoptive father.”

“I’m not—”

“Oskar, come sit with us, won’t you?” Holden extended a hand. “Take the children on your knee.”

Following his lead, I took Oz’s arm and sat him between us while Holden rigged the perfect angle on the dresser for the camera to film us all, sitting shoulder to shoulder at the foot of the bed.

“So, if any of you have questions for Papa Oz, now’s the time,” Holden was on his usual roll. “While we wait, I’ve got a question. Rourke, honestly. Is there anything you wouldn’t let Oz do to you?”

“All right, that’s quite…”

Oz began to stand, but Holden held his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I said I’d direct the questions at you. Oskar, please.”

“No. You lads get out of my room.”

“What happened to your marriage?” I blurted out the words as if it was something I’d been thinking about for ages.

Oz turned to face me, then glanced over his shoulder at Holden who had enough sense to shut up.

“Why are you asking that?”

“I just…” I shrugged. “You could tell us something else.”

Holden snuck a peek at the comments. “Margie wants to know if you ever snogged with a lad.”

“What? No!” Oz swiftly changed his tone. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but no. I never did.”

“Your loss,” Holden said and read the next question, which wasn’t a question at all. “J2Baby83 says ‘Oz looks like Rourke’s driver/not-boyfriend guy from… and there’s a link. Good eye, J2Baby. Oskar is actually Zilv’s father.”

And that’s when the contents of my stomach began to bubble and float into my throat. In an instant, I’d jumped up and slammed the laptop shut.

Holden came at me, but I refused to move my hand. “What are you doing?”

“It won’t save if we don’t save it, right?” I asked. “Only the people who were on live will see it, right, Holden?”

My voice was reaching a hysterical tone that matched the electricity firing in all my nerve endings. The man following me that day turned out to be Peter, the truancy officer. But if the wrong Kanegis brother saw this feed, he could put together where Zilv and I had gone. Worse, Zilv did not want to be exposed like this. He’d be beyond pissed if he knew.


	31. Chapter 31

ZILV

I’d closed up all my tables, left the grey-haired gentlemen with their coffees, check paid, exorbitant 50 quid tip collected, and ducked into the alley to have a smoke and watch Rourke’s latest video.  
I was lucky enough to catch a live session. Maybe even throw in an anonymous comment.

All I got a chance to see was my father sitting between Rourke and that half-Chinese kid from across the street. Holden was in nearly all his videos now. As easy as he was on the eye, it made me queasy to watch Rourke pretend not to understand his innuendos.

I nearly burst into flames the first time I watched the popsicle video. At first, I didn’t know whose voice it was and plotted to murder every teenaged boy I came into contact with. On the second viewing, then the third, I had to admit, it was fucking hot to watch Rourke’s confusion and willingness to be fed. His lips wrapped round that thing. And all the shenanigans they’d gotten up to since then. It was no wonder his channel was taking off. Holden was bringing out a fantasy of him that us freaks had hoped for.

I couldn’t blame the kid for cashing in on his looks, as long as it stayed above the belt with Holden. Although, I was a bit put off that he wouldn’t at least run it by me first. He was still operating under the assumption that I didn’t watch his channel. I was perfectly prepared to let it stay that way.

But to see Rourke sitting there with Oskar was too much. My pulse skyrocketed as I fumbled in my jacket pocket for my earbuds.

I didn’t get the chance to stick them in. The back door of the restaurant creaked and banged open. There stood Curtis from table 13, silhouetted by the light shining out of the kitchen. Before I got a chance to ask if something was wrong with the food or the service, he’d pressed me against the brick wall with his knee between my thighs. It happened so fast I dropped my mobile.

Curtis didn’t seem to notice, or care.

“To hear Paul tell it you work constantly, Zilvinas,” his breath was wet and hot on my ear. “That’s not healthy for a young stud. You need to be out, emptying your nuts.”

It occurred to me how easy it would be to punch this bloke in the guts, knee him in the nose and be done with it. It also occurred to me that he called my boss by his first name. And that there were likely more fifty-pound notes where that one came from.

So I stayed there, with my back against the wall and my crotch now in his hand. I held my breath against his caffeine and nicotine breath. Let him massage until my body reacted in spite of my churning, sour stomach.

“Ah. There he is.”

I turned my head aside, unwilling to watch what was happening.

“You got a sick nana or something, Zilv? Hm? That why you work so much? What’s that, lad? Speak up.”

“No.”

“Sir.”

“No, sir,” I repeated.

“Doesn’t matter. All that matters is the money, right?”

His hand slithered down my back pocket.

"Hard. Cold. Cash."

He lingered so close I shut my eyes waiting for him to lick or even bite my cheek. Instead, he gave me an innocent peck and then, laughing, slinked through the shadows toward the road.

I stood there, with my back against the brick, taking a moment to breathe before I stooped to pick up my phone. The screen was all cracked to shit.

There were another four hours on my shift. I spent them in a stupor, functioning, but screwing up orders and snapping at people. Janet, the night manager offered me another shift, and I took it.

“You know, if you need to go home and rest —”

What I needed was to make enough money so I’d never have to work again. Mo offered me some blow and I took that. Rubbed it on my gums and breezed through til closing.

Around 3 in the morning, despite the haze around my head, I noticed a black BMW with a FOR SALE sign. I walked around it, tried to peer through the tinted windows.

I was paying Anna back for the wedding in installments. I’d been sending half my pay to my mother, saving a quarter of it towards that flat. Even though they never asked for it, I gave Oskar a token rent and bought something for Rourke every time I got a cheque. Fucking money was leaking from my pockets faster than I could put it in.


	32. Chapter 32

ROURKE 

Although he’d had it a couple of weeks, I’d only been in Zilv’s new car a handful of times. It still smelled strongly of leather cleaner and the pine-scented tree that hung from the rearview mirror. The car was like Zilv’s new phone, his 72” telly, his Macbook: for his hands only. He didn’t say so precisely, but I felt the same unease around his electronics as I felt in his car. Like I was treading holy ground just by coming near them. 

In the passenger seat, beside the king on his throne, I pressed my knees together, tucked my hands under my thighs. He adjusted the temperature and gave me permission to do the same on my side. 

In the last couple of months, I only saw him during the witching hours. I’d set my alarm for 4 AM,  slide into his bed and pull his leaden arms around me. He’d grunt, give me a squeeze and fall right back to snoring. It was like he only took time off to sleep. We didn’t spend time together, he was just always bringing me clothes and candy.

This party was the first time we’d gone out at night since Zilv was crowned the Manhole’s Mr. Right Now. It was our first time going out as a couple at all. I had all the confidence of a hunchback on a blind date with someone he’d met online. Zilv and I were good together in private. There was no telling how this would go. I’d wanted to ask if I could bring Holden along. Being with him made everything fun and easy.

My intital plans for the evening had been to hang out with him. When I cancelled, he didn’t even ask why and I didn’t volunteer the information. Holden merely assured me of his ability to smoke up and brainstorm ideas for the channel on his own. In this, I did not doubt him.

I was grateful that Zilv invited me at all. The one time I’d stopped by his job at the Press Room, he’d winced and firmly shaken his head. Clearly, he didn’t want me there.

But Zilv had bought my clothes for the party: skinny jeans and a baggy, sky-blue sweatshirt he said would match my eyes. I was no fan of the navy trainers, but tried to think of the ensemble as an honour badge. With Holden, I was the sane one. I didn’t know who I was to Zilv anymore. Wasn’t even sure what to say. 

A tiny part of me fantastized that it was a surprise early birthday party, but I didn't actually have any friends other than Holden. So, I knew it probably wasn't that.

An hour later, we arrived at the house: a simple bungalow in a lower class neighbourhood than Oz’s. I opened the door and the bottom scraped along the curb.

“Oi!”

My shoulders hunched as if he’d cuffed me. Zilv spent five minutes inspecting and wiping his precious car door. Mumbling profanity under his breath. This was not the guy I started going out with.   
Or maybe it was. I don’t even know. I was convinced I’d never really known 

When he was finally ready, I followed Zilv to the front door, biting my lip rather than reaching for his hand.   
In three months, the only time we’d been ‘together’ in public, was that awkward kiss in the mall, which had been more mortifying than romantic.

A cute, plump blonde opened the door and squeaked. She yanked Zilv into an embrace, grinning over his shoulder. 

“Oh, my god. He’s so cute!” She exclaimed as if Zilv had arrived with a pet ferret. 

“Kay, this is Rourke.”

Kay snatched and shook my hand vigorously while Zilv tapped my shoulder like we were mates from footie. Then he disappeared into the smoke and noise, shouting as he chest bumped the bloke with the peacock mohawk.

He fit right in with a crowd of men who’d fit the same basic description: twenty-somethings with glorious bodies and perfectly coiffed hair. They might have all been dancers at the Manhole. So far as I knew, Zilv didn’t dance, but it had been so long since we’d really talked, I couldn’t be sure.

“The boys’ club.” Kay rolled her eyes. “Come with me, honey. We’ll let the lads entertain themselves.”

Out of politeness, I remained mum on her makeup which looked as though she’d applied with the wrong hand. Her minidress, however, was adorable and suited despite her thick thighs. I left out the last part and presented the compliment. She smiled, smoothed her hand down the front and claimed it was Prada. I found that difficult to believe but nodded politely. 

Kay led the way past snogging pairs and huddled trios. Away from the punchbowl, to the kitchen where she gave me a Coke. 

In another room, the furniture had been shoved aside so that six or so girls could dance with total abandon. At first, I leaned on the doorframe, smiling and nodding to the music. But when Material Girl came on, I thought, fuck it. 

Whether I was dancing with Kay, alone, or with every other girl in the room, it didn’t matter. I was actually having a great time. 

After a few hours, though, the music stopped and my dance partners trickled away. I found Zilv engaged in an animated conversation with the peacock. So, I wandered to a quiet room where three people sat on a sofa watching a Sly Stallone movie. 

One bloke puffed on and then passed a spliff. When it came my turn, Kay announced, “This is Zilv’s friend.” 

The offer instantly rescinded as the joint was snatched from my puckered lips.

The movie ended and I wound up alone, curled on the sofa like a discarded pet, waiting for the night to end. Every time someone would peek in, they’d quickly leave again. I kicked off the new trainers, snailed under a blanket and fell asleep. 

I awoke with a dark-haired, ruddy-faced bloke sitting on my feet. 

“You’re Zilv’s mate, yeah?”

I extracted my toes from under his arse. My new friend leaned close enough to blow noxious alcohol fumes into my face.

“So, what’s your name?” 

There was a red Solo cup in one hand and a fag burning in the other. He wasn’t hard to look at and seemed reasonably friendly. So, I answered his question. 

“Nice.” He smiled. “That’s Irish.”

I nodded and reached for his cup. He held it out of my reach and I assumed he was just being an awful tease.

“You Irish?” He asked. 

I shook my head and he proceeded to tell me all about his Irish relations. My throat was dry. I wanted nothing more than to go home.

“So, what are you, twelve?”

“I’m fifteen, soon to be sixteen.”

“That’s how that works, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “That Zilv’s an animal. Watch out for that one.”

“Look, can I have a bit of that? Just a sip.”

“This?” He peered into his cup. “Nice try there? I’m not looking for any trouble.”

He tilted back his head and drained every drop of his drink. Then he belched. It was time to go home. I stood and walked toward the door.

“Sorry, lad,“ He called after me with an obnoxious hiccough. "We’re not to give you drink, nor smoke, nor blow, nor try anything on with you. On pain of death, I suppose.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, although I already knew precisely what it meant. 

Zilv was ‘protecting me’. Apparently, he’d assigned Kay as my chaperone. 

Why even take someone to a party and tell everyone else not to let them take part in said party? I stormed down the hall into the living room where Zilv slouched among a pile of drunken jocks mumbling nonsense to each other. 

“Can we go?” I asked, arms folded, forbidding myself to cry.

“Like that one.” Zilv pointed at me. “What am I supposed to fucking do with him?”

“At least he didn’t try to stab you, did you” the peacock replied. “In the groin. With a fork. Over a bag of cocaine.”

“Not yet.”

“I fucking love that man, I tell you.”

“You’re all sloshed,” I said.

They responded in a roar of laughter.  
Zilv would kill me if I even dreamed of driving his car. That left us stranded, in bloody Romford.


	33. Chapter 33

ROURKE

 

Kay offered us separate sleeping arrangements which I adamantly refused. It could have been my imagination, but the moment I disclosed that we’d need only one bed, Kay no longer seemed to see me as the darling PIkachu. She sneered down her fat nose at me like I’d stolen her favourite earrings. Most likely, had the hots for Zilv. 

I couldn’t blame her. He’s everything, isn’t he? Gorgeous, strong, mysterious. He was even sexy tripping up the steps, and the fuck if I would sleep in a separate room and let whatever happen. 

I’d been too bloody docile, taken too much of Zilv’s crap. I’d let him think of me as some helpless child. If this was going to work, things needed to change immediately. 

The second the door closed, Zilv lifted and tossed me onto the bed like I was weightless. 

“Wow. Holy shit.”

It was lovely being manhandled, but he was on the verge of toppling himself. I pulled the giant idiot onto his bum at the foot of the bed. He fought like a toddler while I wrestled the plum-coloured polo shirt over his head. Then he yanked me into his lap and plundered my face with his thick tongue. Licked me, forced his way between my lips. I can’t say it was exactly hot. Tasted like he’d thrown up in his mouth a few times already.

He finally let up, but only to pull the collar of my jumper aside and slobber all over my neck. 

“Did you have a good time?” I asked as if I’d invited him.

Zilvmoaned against my skin. He kissed my knuckles and whispered, “Suck your thumb for me, Baby.”

“What?”

He pushed my thumb right where he wanted it: in my mouth, like a small child. Zilvsmiled and smoothed my hair. He stroked my face. At least he hadn’t brought the dummy. 

“Such a pretty baby, you are. Will you crawl on the floor for Daddy?”

He was still sozzled. If I could just get him to lie on his back, he’d probably conk right out. My gently applied pressure to his shoulders made no impact. “Go to sleep, Zilv.”

“Crawl for me, Rourke.”

On some level, I understood it would turn him on, although I couldn’t work out why. All I could think was that I wanted this man to desire me, not treat me like an infant.

“Zilv.”

“Get on your fucking knees.”

So, with tears welling behind my eyes, I got onto my knees, silently counting the days until I’d be old enough for him. Meanwhile, Zilv wanted to regress me back to when I was a four-legged creature.

“Hands and knees.” He sat at the end of the bed, palming himself. “Let me see you.”

I couldn’t understand why Zilv was humiliating me that way. Like he needed to remind me of my age. My tears dripped on the floor. I’d barely crawled four feet when he rolled me over and unzipped my pants.

Finally, he was giving me what I’d waited for. And two days early

I thanked God and lifted my hips to help him tug my jeans to my ankles. Zilvleaned over me, licked my lips and murmured, “Come on, Baby. Let Daddy change your nappy now.”

“What, Zilv? No.”

Without thinking, I kicked him in the jaw, hopped up, struggling with my jeans and ran from the room.

 

***

 

48 minutes later, Holden arrived at the corner to pick me up in his aunt’s car.


	34. Chapter 34

ROURKE 

I knew I hadn’t hurt Zilv. He was so drunk; it was a matter of time before he passed out on his own. Besides, he’s made of fucking stone. I don’t think I could hurt him if I wanted to.

Holden’s apparent lack of curiosity was more frustrating than if he’d bombarded me with questions. Not that I felt free to disclose anything that had happened. I wasn’t even sure Zilv was out to everyone. 

Still, I couldn’t help asking, “Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“I already know what happened,” Holden replied and signalled for a left turn. “You went to some stupid fucking party and realised it was shit without me.”

I shook my head and choked back a laugh. “Twat.”

Better to forget the entire crazy fucking night. Easier to just watch him drive. “Did I wake you?”

“No.”

“What have you been up to all night?”

“Thinking of you, Rourke. What else would anyone ever do?” 

“Sarcastic bastard.” 

“I was wanking when you called.” 

I had no trouble imagining that. 

We rode in silence for the rest of the ride. I fell asleep until we were on Park Road. Holden parked his aunt’s car in her yard and then began to walk up the street. 

“Oi, where are you going?”

“Technically, I’m supposed to be babysitting.” He shook his hair from his face. “I got an emergency request.”

Who would trust this insane lad with their children? Regardless, I didn’t want to be alone. So, I asked if he needed help.

“Yeah, all right.”

Ansel Tillman. The hot youngish dad up the road. Who else?

Inside the house, Holden opened his laptop and slouched on the sofa with a beer. 

“Are you honestly allowed to be in here?”

“The brats are asleep upstairs,” Holden said. “Ansel’s out with the freak of the week.”

Gorgeous Ansel with the two little ones. He hadn’t called me. He’d asked Holden. No point being offended. I didn’t want the job. 

I intentionally did not sit next to Holden on the couch but folded my legs beneath me in the easy chair. He drank a bit and rubbed himself over his pants. I used to think I was such a brazen bitch before I met Holden. He was never shy.  
Usually, I pretended not to notice or looked at my phone. On that occasion, though, I watched his hand; the nails coated in chipping black, as he massaged himself over the faded black denim. 

“Holden?”

His hummed an acknowledgment.

“What’s the dirtiest thing you ever did?”

A little smirk, but his eyes stayed glued to the screen. “Depends what you call dirty, poppet.”

“I mean, like, kinky.” 

Holden raised a brow.

There was no way I was going into detail. He’d have to take a hint from the word, “Weird.”

“You still aren’t answering the question, Rourke.” He finally looked at me, grey eyes hooded like a serpent. “What do you consider weird?”

“I mean, like... dildos and things?”

He laughed.

“Okay, what if a guy asked you to put on a nappy and pretend to be a baby?”

Holden’s head bopped side to side. He shrugged. “He’s into it?”

“I don’t know. I guess.”

“Then, shit yeah. What the hell do I care? I’ll ‘goo goo ga ga’ all fucking night if it’ll keep him hard,” he had a drink of his beer while I tried to let that sink in. “Why? Someone ask for that in a video? Doesn’t surprise me, with your face.”

I gave him the finger. My baby face was almost certainly the problem. 

“Is that what ol’ Chas wants to do to you on your birthday?”

“I have no idea what that freaky fucker wants?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Holden and I were of staunchly differing opinions on the matter of YouTube fans and friends. I believed it might be fun to jump on a train and meet a person who had a channel. At least I had an impression of them. Holden’s belief was that if some rando sent you money, you had a personal duty to run and see if they’d give you more in person.

“I’m just saying,” he said. “Some rich guy wants to pamper you for your birthday. Pun intended. I still can’t see why you wouldn’t let him.”

I shook my head. It was a very good time for sleep. My brain was powering down. Instead, I sat there with my eyes closed, going over and over that last minute when Zilv tried to diaper me and I kicked him in the face. It was hard to tell which was of us was more mental.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Holden patted the space beside him on the sofa. “Show you something.”

His pants were open now, hand all the way inside. His laptop was balanced on one knee, so I figured he’d be showing me a weird discovery: people fucking themselves with carrots, or dressed as demons. 

Instead, the video was of a black-haired kid, the camera at such a bad angle that only his chin and stringy hair was visible at first. The rest of the screenshot was his jumper. 

In one abrupt shot, his face was perfectly clear. It was Holden, but he couldn’t have been older than twelve. 

Drool spilled from his wide-open mouth, eyes pinched closed. Someone with a deep voice was fucking the hell out of him, calling him a slut, occasionally slapping his ears, choking him, ripping back Holden’s head with a fistful of hair. 

“Shit,” I said before I could think of something more meaningful.

“You’re looking at my first time.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked. “Are you sloshed?”

“Must have been out of my fucking mind,” he laughed. “Don’t even remember it. Found it on my phone the next day.”

That explained the awful camerawork.

“Who’s the guy?”

“Can’t you tell?” Holden smirked and tugged his pants down around his thighs so that his smallish cock sprang up for full attention.

How the hell was I supposed to know who that maniac was behind him? All I could tell was that he was trying to break Holden’s ass. I couldn’t decide whether I was jealous or sad for him. 

“Listen,” Holden said. 

But then I didn’t have to guess anymore. The image shifted just enough and just long enough for me to make out Ansel Tillman’s face before he growled and told Holden what a filthy little faggot he was. 

“Holy shit.”

Holden smirked like I’d worked out the Sphinx riddle.

“Does he know you filmed this?”

“No way. He was married at the time. I mean, the misses was … you know.”

All I knew was that Ansel’s wife was dead. According to Raevn and Oz, he was the world’s sweetest widower and father. 

“Shit.”

“Anyway, you’re in the middle of my biggest kink,” Holden said. “Watching myself with one person whilst I fuck another.”

The kid on the screen was getting far more than fucked. It was a massacre. Ansel had burrowed two fingers of each hand into Holden’s mouth, clamping his cheeks open like some medieval dental tool.

In real life, Holden was stroking the hell out of his cock, watching me watch the film.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Come on, Rourke. You’re killing me with the hard to get.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to…”

On-screen, Ansel spat in his hand and rubbed it all over Holden’s face. I flinched and stopped watching.

“You’re not hard as diamond right now?” 

“No.” I crossed my hands over my swollen crotch.

It was fucking sick. I don’t know why I was getting excited. On-screen Baby Holden was trying to crawl away. Every time, Ansel would drag him back and growl that he wasn’t fucking finished.

Grown-up, real-life Holden’s hand was on my cheek, his mouth a few inches from mine. I let him kiss me once, briefly, as a condolence for the disgusting way he lost his virginity.

Holden was my friend. He was my business partner. Because of him, I was making over 200 quid a week. Soon, I would confess to Zilv that I’d spent his cash. Then, I’d pay him back. Only, I couldn’t bring myself to admit I’d been that big of a cunt.

Holden was the first boyfriend I’d always thought I’d have. Zilv was a pipe dream. He’d clouded up the real world by presenting himself as a possibility.

“Come on, Rourke.” Holden slid his fingers into my hair. His other hand was on my lap, his tongue in my ear. “Get it wet for me.”

It wasn’t that I wanted to. Or that I didn’t want to. It was more like the cells of my body had their own agenda. The little thing called Me was along for the ride. There we were, me and my body, on our knees, licking Holden’s cock, staring up at his grin while he pressed between our lips.


	35. Chapter 35

ZILV

I woke up on the floor with a skull full of knotted fuzz. Couldn’t recall how I’d landed on my back, why my mouth tasted like pickled ass, or where Rourke was off to. I had a vague sense that I’d hurt him and he’d run out. 

Sitting up sent the universe sideways. I leaned over and chundered my dinner onto a dried blood stain. It took a moment to piece together where the hell I was at first and who I’d need to pay for the ruined carpet. 

I scooted on my ass, away from the sick. A lorry rumbled by, shaking the window, loud as fuck. The shining sun didn’t tell me much about the time. My head swirling, I crawled to the bed and used the mattress to help me hoist to my feet. 

A quick check of my phone: a little afternoon. GPS locator put me outside of Chelsea. Then the whole night, or most of it, came rushing back.

Rourke had called six times. Just as I was thinking of calling back, I received an alert on my mobile: new post on his YouTube channel. Maybe it was better to take a moment, clear my thoughts before I spoke with him, in case I needed to prepare an apology. With no other anchor on reality, I sat on the bed and cued up the video. Turned out not to be one he’d uploaded himself, but a fan-reply from another channel. 


	36. Chapter 36

ROURKE

I stared at the ringing phone and let it go to voicemail twice before Zilv sent me a text message. It was stupid. All I had to do was play it cool, and he’d never know. The problem was that I sorely mistrusted my acting abilities. Part of me wanted to confess to sucking Holden’s stupid little dick. Either Zilv would go mad with jealousy or he’d dump me and the torture with him would be over once and for all.

ZILV: Losing my mind. Please answer. 

The next time he called, I sucked in a breath and touched the green button.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine.” Though my voice was a bit mousy.

“I’m going to kill that little fucker,” Zilv swore. “You can bet on that. Today is his last day.”

My skin went cold while my blood ran like lava. He’d kill Holden first, then me. “How did you find out?”

“He fucking uploaded a video. Did you not see it?”

Holden had secretly taped me and put it on the internet? It wouldn’t have been difficult since I spent most of the time with my eyes squeezed shut. I’d pulled off and watched him splurt all over his fingers, but that detail hardly mattered. He couldn’t have shown all that on YouTube or we’d have been banned. No question though, Zilv had seen enough. If he didn’t murder Holden, I would. If slitting his throat would undo the past, there would be blood all over me. Luckily for that bitch, he’d left for his mother’s flat in London that morning. 

“Why’d you leave without me?  
   
“Zilv, I…”

“Just stay where you are. I’m coming. I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”  
   
“Zilv.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

“At Oz’s.”

“What? How… Nevermind. Just stay there. I’ll come get you, and you can watch me bash his shit brains in.”

With Holden gone, I’d be the logical next choice for a murder victim. And I deserved it. I didn’t want to watch what Holden posted, but I needed to know what Zilv had seen. Maybe, somehow, it wasn’t even that bad. 

When I saw the latest video response to my channel, I set the phone down on the step. 

“Fuck.”

There was no pretty way to explain. I was waiting on the porch with my hands folded in my lap when Zilv arrived. 

 

ZILV

I pulled up twenty minutes later. It only took that long because I’d was done for speeding. 

I rolled down the window and shouted for Rourke to come on. He stuck a fingertip in his mouth and started gnawing off the nail. I planted a foot on the pavement so I could stand and shout, “Let’s move.”

The tire iron in my boot would do nicely. That kid was going to suffer a fracture in every limb of his body. And I wanted Rourke to watch it happen. It was no surprise he was in a dazed state after everything. 

My head was still screaming from the night before, but I had a fucking mission and no time to worry about my pain. If I had to carry the lad to the car, that wasn’t a problem. I tramped up. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, he stood and wiped his face with both hands. 

“Let’s fucking go —”

“You don’t understand,” Rourke said.

“What’s not to understand? I saw the fucking video on YouTube. I been watching your channel, all right. I saw everything.”

“That’s not… I should have known something like this would happen.” He buried his face in his hands. “Bloody idiots like Marcus Oaks.”

The name told me nothing, and I was losing patience by the second.

 “That video was posted today, yeah?”

“This morning,” I said. “How did you get back here so quick?”

Rourke also didn’t have a scrape on him that I could see. Lucky for that wee bastard, because hurting my lad would be his ticket underground. Rourke ran his fingers through his hair. His shoulders rose as he inhaled like he was preparing for a high dive.

“It didn’t happen today, Zilv.”

I fell silent. Listening.

“You remember the day we met?” He began. “Marcus is a ... mate is exaggerated. More of an associate. Zarya knows him. I think they might have … dated for a while.” 

Clearly, he meant to say my sister had shagged the arsehole from the video.

Rourke explained how this Marcus mostly sold gear, but on the side, he was a sort of schoolyard mercenary. He’d beat up anyone for a fee. 

“People,” Rourke stared at his fidgeting fingers. “Fans and subscribers kept asking if I ever had problems with bullying. I never had really… But I thought it might be, you know… interesting for the channel.”

“So… Who paid him?” I asked, still not getting the sum.

“I did.”

“To beat who?”

Rourke sighed, looked up the street and finally said, “Me.”

All of the adrenaline that had been keeping the dizziness and migraine at bay sank to the pit of my gut and pureed with the sour rotgut 90 proof vodka from the night before. I stepped back. 

I used to be the kind of kid Marcus was. Bully businessman. 

“So, you’ve been lying to me from the beginning. I met you in the middle of a lie.”

His mouth fell open, but he didn’t deny it. 

“You fucking manipulative …” I didn’t even know the word for what he was. So, I just said, “Cunt.”

Just looking at him was going to make me throw up again. What I needed, at that moment, was space, Aspirin, and a chance to figure out what the hell was going on. I peeled Rourke’s hands off me, ignored his pleas, got into my car and fled the scene as if I’d committed a crime. 


	37. Chapter 37

ROURKE

It was just an idea. Wasn’t sure I was going through with it. I hadn’t asked the idiot to post it.

In the end, I tossed my phone. It was a rash, bratty choice, but I didn’t know what else to do. After Marcus posted that video, I received so much love and support via comments and donations that I flung the damn thing in the toilet.


	38. Chapter 38

ZILV

I drove nowhere and slept in the car on the side of the road.

Rourke had made a complete jackass of me. I was the idiot who stumbled onto a movie set and fell for a character instead of the actor. And he’d let me hang on to the false belief all this time. Technically, he wasn’t a different person, but he was a phony. What else had he lied to me about?

It was a typical, busy Thursday night shift at the Press Room. I started the evening with five tables. While the rest of my co-workers pranced about, cranking up the kindness and flamboyance, flirting with everything on two legs, anyone who requested me as their server to get a sullen piece of shit got their money’s worth. 

“Does your bartender have a special tonight?” 

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “I really don’t know.”

“Can you ask?”

“Look. What do you normally drink? Whatever it is, he can mix it.”

Some guy touched my arm. I spun and glared, fists curling at my side. It didn’t happen again all night.

I wasn’t in the mindset for crap. My life was overflowing with Rourke’s bullshit. I didn’t need more of it at work. I got through the first half of my shift in relative peace: a shit mood, but surviving. 

Rourke hadn’t tried to get in touch with me and I returned the favour. On my break, I stood in the alley, breathing in rat shit, flinching from the loud bass next door and debating about thrashing the blokes behind the dumpster who couldn’t have thought they were being conspicuous. 

Shift two. New tables. New annoyances. A customer pretended to have a hearing impairment so I’d have to lean closer to speak directly into his ear. As if he was the first prat to try that on. 

The Press Room is a classy place, but they practise the obnoxious tradition of rousing applause whenever a glass breaks. This time, it was followed by a womanish scream from the kitchen. The place fell silent.

Most everyone acted like they were in a snapshot, one of my co-workers and me ran back toward the kitchen and found my mate, Mo, clutching the hilt of a cleaver, the blade of it jutting out between his ribs. Blood was already dripping from his mouth

Through hyperventilated breaths, Jerhi the cook explained that his maniac American ex-boyfriend had snuck in, attacked and ran. Before I had time to think, I was racing down the street after some guy I’d only seen once and clearly had mental problems. The closest thing to a weapon I had was my mobile.

I made it ten blocks, weaving through foot traffic, narrowly avoiding being run down by taxis, before I gave up and returned to the restaurant. I arrived just in time to watch the medics lift Mo onto a gurney and wheel him down the alley toward an ambulance. 

“Can you believe this shit?” Jerhi asked.

I folded my arms and shook my head although I’d seen worse.

Halfway down the alley, Mo pulled the air mask from his face. He called my name and then fell into a phlegmy coughing fit. I rushed to his side, but hesitated when he told me to reach in his pocket. 

When I offered him the business card I found there, he tapped my hand twice and nodded. I nodded back, although I had no idea what he was asking of me. 

Paul gave me Mo’s tables. So, I didn’t have time to call the number on the card until well after ten.

“Wetherall Catering,” a female answered. “How may I direct your call?”

“Hello,” I said. “I’m calling for Mo Richards.”

“We don’t have anyone by that name.”

Once I’d thoroughly explained the situation three times, she connected me to a man who explained that Mo was scheduled to work as a server. Now, the buck had been passed to me, if I accepted the mission. Four hours Saturday morning for one thousand pounds. It wasn’t a question of jumping. It was more of a How far and what was the catch?

“No catch,” he said. 

When I hung up, my upset with Rourke had dissolved. If not all of it, enough to call and tell him about the job. Considering that the next day, Saturday was his birthday, he deserved to know I’d be home late, and it wasn’t because I was pissed off at him. Although, I was still pissed off at him. 

I needed to drive straight from the Manhole to some rich bloke’s Radnage estate. I’d never even been to bloody Radnage.

When Rourke didn’t answer, I sent a text. I might require a pick-me-up to get through it, but a thousand P was worth whatever. It would be enough to put a downpayment on renting that flat. Finally, everything was finally working out. 


	39. Chapter 39

ROURKE

Oz placed a bowl in front of me. “Do you want to tell me or should I guess?”

He carried his portion to the other side of the table. 

“I’m fine.” 

I pouted at the freshly microwaved and still steaming canned minestrone.

“Mmhm. Clearly.” Raevn nodded, fluffing her salad with a fork.

In the previous weeks, those two had become conjoined twins. Oz folded his body into a posture that mirrored mine: chin on fist, shoulders slumped. 

“Are you two beefing?” He asked. “Is that the word?”

There’s no sound more ridiculous than American slang on the tongue of a middle-aged British man. 

“We’ve had a row,” I said and steeled my voice not to break. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Oz said. “But it wouldn’t exactly be the first row in the history of romance, now would it?”

“I suppose not, Oz. Thank you. That’s very helpful.”

He smiled and finished his soup without further commentary. Raevn, however, was never short on commentary. She talked enough for all three of us: most of it stupid advice. When they’d eaten, Oz washed both of their bowls. Mine was half empty as he dried his hands on a dishtowel and clapped twice the same way Zilv rushes me. I dumped my leftovers in the sink.

“Come on, lad,” Oz said. “We’ve got an early birthday present for you.”

I rolled my eyes, but sat on the sofa between them. Raevn presented the flat package with a flourish. 

“Voila.”

As I unwrapped a Polaroid picture a warm rush swept through me. In the centre of the square, there stood a dark-haired, jelly-bellied, shirtless, bespectacled kid. As far from the Zilv I knew as anyone could be, his hair hung wet in his eyes and he grinned from ear to ear. In his hand hung a water pistol. Beneath it. Someone had scribbled the year: 2004.

“He must have been around 10,” Oz explained. 

Raevn added. “Hell of a scorcher that year.”

“I do wish I’d kept any of the old photos. His mother has them all, you see?”

“Had to forage through the attic for that,” Raevn said. “Just thought you’d get a kick out of it. The real present is coming tomorrow.”

This awful, adorable brat in the photo would become my first love. Then it would it end. That was the march of time. Before I could descend into chaos, snot and tears, I tried to flee the sofa. Oz caught me by the back of my shirt and pulled me back down beside him. He slung an arm over my shoulder and let me pour all my disgusting sorrow into his nice, clean shirt. 

“Listen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned - whatever happens is okay. The human heart can survive a great many fractures, Rourke.”

In that moment, I realized that I didn’t want to kiss Zilv’s father, or go to bed with him. I just wanted him to go on patting my shoulder like that, rocking a little, and sighing from time to time. 


	40. Chapter 40

ZILV

It was a huge house with valet parking, even for the help. Something was finally going right, for a change. 

In the two hours between the end of my shift at the Manhole and the start of this server gig, I tracked down Monica and bought a gram of coke to get through the day. I rarely messed with hard drugs, but I hadn’t slept properly in days. There was no other way I’d survive. 

What can I say? Cocaine works. It keeps me awake and alert. It also makes me edgy as fuck. Anytime someone said my name, a jolt of electricity flashed behind my eye sockets. 

As the day went on, the high mellowed out, but I never felt normal. I snapped at these rich blokes left and right, but they enjoyed my irritability so much they’d create opportunities to piss me off. One arsehole tripped me, another patted my arse every time I passed his table.

I carried the tray of drinks between the tables, wearing only the tiger-printed, 1980s basketball shorts that were the uniform for the gig. Like the others, they’d oiled me with God knows what. For the better part of three hours, they touched, patted, fondled and catcalled me along with a dozen other blokes who were also being treated like meat. 

By the time it was over, it would take a crowbar to loosen my jaw. I gritted my teeth and thought about the cheque, though with some doubt that any amount of money was worth the humiliation. 

While I was placing martinis on a table, one of them stood behind me and started humping. I stood upright, spilt a glass from my tray. That caused a huge uproar of laughter. The man gripped my hip, reached around my chest and pressed a golden star sticker to my chest. 

The entire room erupted in applause. Two other waiters were accosted and pinned with gold stars. When the room full of randy, old bastards stopped hooting their approval, the head randy bastard stood and announced that they’d selected the players.

I knew nothing about any players and began to peel away the sticker. The man couldn’t have looked more aghast if I had threatened to skin him. He held out a hand to stop me and for a moment, I paused. 

“What are you doing, young man?” he asked. “You understand. We have selected you.”

“With all respect, sir. I’ve got twenty minutes left of this bullshite and I’m out of here.”

A collective gasp. 

“No, no. You signed a contract. If chosen, you will participate.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” I said. “I’m merely subbing for a mate.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a sub at all.”

Har har. They all got a great chuckle out of that one. 

“Whatever this is. It’s my boyfriend’s birthday tomorrow. I’ve yet to buy his gift.”

Awws, boos and more laughter. They were having some hell of a great time.

“Well, don’t you want to hear the prize?” Old Man Winter asked.

“I don’t really care, mate,” I said. “I’ve got to get home.”

“Ten thousand pounds, cash, to the winner.”

Mo had failed to mention that part.   
Everyone stood still, awaiting my reaction. Even I didn’t know what to say. A waiter on my left raised his hand. “I’ll compete if he won’t.”

“What is the competition?” I asked.

The head arsehole laid it out in perfectly clear terms: ten thousand quid to the best caveman. We three ‘selected’ twats would be released into the woods like a bunch of cats, given weapons and expected to fight to the death or as close as we were willing to go. Winner takes all. Meanwhile, the rich blokes would stand up on the balcony of this mansion with binoculars. There would even be drones flying overhead to cast the gritty details on screen. 

According to the ringleader, I was the smallest, but an early favourite because of my bad attitude. 

“Yeah, sorry.” I put down my tray on the nearest table.  “Not interested.”

Besides not wanting to die, or get anywhere close to it, there was no way Rourke would believe this shit. 

The only problem was, these fuckers had all of our belongings on lockdown. Clothing, shoes, phone in a room that was now secured and inaccessible. They’d insisted on valet parking, and I had no idea where the bastards had put my car. 


	41. Chapter 41

ROURKE

I lay in bed, wearing the present from Oz and Raevn: an utterly gorgeous sheer, black blouse. The black satin panties I’d bought for myself. I may or may not have been cradling myself, humming that Coldplay song Zilv likes so much, folded up like an infant in the womb, wishing I could die. Maybe I already had. My body just hadn’t yet gotten the memo.

It was nearly 7 PM on my birthday. Nary a word from Zilv. I’d suspected we were over. Now it was confirmed. 

Finally, he knocked and my entire body lit up.

Only he wasn’t him. It was the last person I wanted to see. I didn’t need any reminders what an awful, false, unworthy slag I was. 

Holden offered me a black gift bag, and I rolled over to turn my back to him.  

He sat on my bed. “Birthday blues, love?”

I shrugged his hand off my arm. 

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Holden asked. “You’re sweet sixteen today.”

He laid behind me, wrapped his arm and a leg over mine. Either I didn’t have the energy to struggle, or I just wanted someone close. Maybe both. 

“I saw the fucking thing, on the channel,” Holden said. “Those guys are arseholes.”

“They were my mates.”

“What?”

“Those arseholes were the closest thing I had to mates back home.”

One good thing about Holden: he always knew when to remain silent.

“I concocted the whole thing,” I vomited the words. “I paid them to jump me. So the channel would get big.”

He nodded against my back, quiet for a long time before he said, “Well, it worked.”

What started as a tiny titter burst into deep belly laughter and ugly-ass snorting. I rolled over and didn’t even protest when Holden kissed me. I was too busy cackling my hysterical head off. He cupped his hand around my ear and really laid one on me with tongue and the works. Then he rolled on top of me and started grinding. 

Like that fish in Nemo: happy feeling gone.

“Wait,” I said.

He wasn’t much heavier than I was, but he was covering my whole body. Struggling wasn’t working. His face was buried in my neck and my body was on fire. I didn’t want to come or even enjoy it.

“Holden, please. Stop. Just. Wait.”

Breathing hard, he leaned up and looked down at me. His black lipstick was smudged around his mouth like something equally horrific and enchanting. 

“Have you got a boyfriend or something, Rourke? Just say, you know. I’ll back off.”

“No. I haven’t got.” Nothing could have felt more true. “I just want to see what you got me.”

He smiled, pecked me again and hopped down. “Fine. But today, I make you a man.”

I snickered uncomfortably and sat up. The thing was, I was supposed to be getting fucked for my birthday. If Zilv wasn’t there to do it…   
   
You’re probably thinking I was a horrible slut for even thinking something like that, but I loved Holden. He was like a brother to me, and I hadn’t heard a peep from Zilv in 24 hours. He hadn’t even called to wish me a happy birthday. Granted, I’d tossed my phone, but he could have called the house number or something. 

But there was nothing. No sign of life from him. The last thing he’d said was that I was a useless, manipulative cunt. He wasn’t wrong. 

Given the choice of spending my birthday pining or in the company of the one person in the world who thought I was worth kissing and screwing… Well, maybe I was a slut. 

“Stand up. Let me see you.”

I did, and I turned when he asked me to.

“God, you look hot as hell. Is that top a present for you or me?”

I couldn’t help the smile. 

“Come on. Open them. I want to see your face.”

I’m guessing what he saw on my face were increasing levels of amusement and shock as I unwrapped the first gift: a mango-flavoured condom. I balled and tossed the paper in his face. 

The second was a jewelled anal plug which was quite pretty, though I didn’t want to wear it for him.

The next two, he had to explain: a cock cage.

“I’m not wearing that, Holden.” Not for him or anyone else.

He smirked. “We’ll see.”

“No, we won’t. It’s not going to happen,” I said. “And what the fuck is that?”

The long silver stick looked like a surgical tool, or a torture device, or both. 

“It’s called a sound.”

Once he’d explained its use, I was convinced that my best friend was an insane person born five centuries too late. 

“Maybe in Japan,” I said.

“Oh, fuck you.”

When people are talking about inserting things into your penis, any self-defence will do, including racist humour. 

“Not to be used all at once, of course,” Holden spread everything on the bed and picked up the condom. “Let’s start with this.”

He went to his knees in front of me. Instinctively, I blocked him from pulling out my cock, batting away his hands.

“How old are you again? Would you quit being a baby, Rourke? By the way, whatever happened to old Chas?”

Holden already knew that I never answered old Chas’ invitation. He was distracting me so he could grip my ass and kiss my thigh. Then, he started sucking my flesh. The sensation was so intense that my knees buckled and I accidentally pressed into it.

“There, see?” Holden smiled up. “Relax. I give incredible head.”

With one hand, he pinned my wrists together at my belly button and popped the elastic of my panties before peeling them down around my knees.

“These are cute,” he said. “Take them off.”

My body was trembling and well past the point of disobedience. I’d had no other blowjob to compare, but what Holden did to me was damn incredible. Zilv had barely ever acknowledged my cock while never wanting me to wear girl clothes. I’d never realized how much I resented that until Holden was rolling my foreskin between his lips.

Once I was intolerably hard, he rolled on the day-glo orange condom and slurped in my entire cock at once. My head fell back, mouth fell open, and I shot off like a rocket, apologizing for premature take off.

“Glad you enjoyed.” Holden laughed and carefully removed the rubber. “This is for later.”

“You’re fucking disgusting,” I said, still winded.

“I am nothing of the sort. I’m simply going to fuck you with your own cum as lube.”

“You’re not going to fuck me, Holden.” I tried to speak firmly enough to convince myself, but my legs were shaky.

In response, he kissed me half-senseless, spreading the artificial mango flavour all over my tongue. When I was damn near hard again, he pulled away and said, “We’ll see.”

Next, Holden pointed at the cage. “You can put it on me, if you like, just see how it works.”

What I wanted was for him to leave, but it would have been shady to say so after he’d gotten me off. 

“Or,” Holden held the sound in both hands like a sword. “I can stimulate your prostate and make you love me forever.”

“Does it hurt?” 

Why was I asking?

Holden smiled. “Only if someone fucks up, which means you have to be very still and trust me.”

If you’d told me just a half-year earlier that this was how I’d be spending my 16th birthday, I’d have known you were insane. As it turns out, I was the crazy one. Right along with Holden who had me sit on the side of the bed and watch him lube the thing and stick it into me. 

At first, I was soft and terrified. That changed dramatically, very quickly. 

Holden looked up at my face and whispered, “Breathe.”

My breath gushed out all at once. It was the strangest thing I’d ever experienced. I was a guinea pig. 

And if I was going to do anything this weird, it should only be with Zilv.

“Stop.”

Holden slid the sound in a centimetre further.

“Holden.”

“Almost there.”

“I said to fucking stop.” In order to fucking make him stop I’d have to move, which was not a risk I was willing to take. 

Was I really that desperate for someone to want me?  
Apparently.   
I was also crying like the fucking infant I didn’t want to be. I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to see what Holden thought of me.

“All right,” he said. “All right. Relax. I’m taking it out.”

I don’t remember what Holden did after that. At some point, he left me alone on the side of the bed sobbing. I’d had the best man in the world and I blew it. Kissing another guy was one thing, but there was no way I could look Zilv in the eye again.

There was nothing for me in Brentwood anymore except reminders of what a useless, manipulative, filthy, cheating cunt I was. 


	42. Chapter 42

ZILV

Because those fuckers had confiscated everything - under the guise of keeping it all safe - I have no photographic evidence that this ever happened. I’ve never been able to get Mo to admit to it or in any other way prove this happened, but I’m just going to tell like it happened to me.

Was I on drugs? Yes. But not hallucinogens. There’s no way I imagined this insane bullshit.

First, they downgraded my wardrobe from those ridiculous shorts to a black mesh g-string. Then, I was led to an arsenal of primitive weapons: handmade ‘knives’, maces, spears. 

I would have assumed a porn remake of the Hunger Games inspired these lunatics, but one man explained they’d been doing this for over 25 years. He’d even competed three years prior and showed off a few scars to prove it. He also claimed that competitors rarely died, although they were often medi-vacced off the premises. The ringleader owned a helicopter and had a pilot on hand, so that was a comfort. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

“Bloke won it last year by hiding in a cave,” my new friend said. “He survived a week eating weasels or something until the others had all shivved each other.”

“A week?”

“Til the end?”

“This can’t be fucking real,” I said.

It was the sort of thing Americans did.

He clapped my shoulder and said, “Good luck, mate.”

I’d chosen a small blade I thought I could tuck in the elastic of my underwear, and a lance as long as I am tall. 

We four competitors were photographed together, two of them already bumping shoulders and gritting their teeth at each other like they’d never learned English grammar.  Then, we were blindfolded. At least I was and put in the back of what might have been a golf cart. 

When I could free my eyes, I was in the middle of the forest. 

That’s when it occurred to me that someone (Monica?) might have laced the shit I’d snorted. This could all be a trip. And I will accept the possibility that I imagined the whole thing. But if it was a trip, it was the most realistic, disturbing hallucination I’ve ever had.

Everybody who’s ever had a bad trip knows there’s no way out of it but through it. Lucky for me, I’d read the entire Hunger Games trilogy when I was a kid. I couldn’t shoot like Katniss, but I could fucking hide and get the lay of the land before I took any action.

The first thing I did was conceal my lance in some bushes and then climb a tree. I was too wound up to sleep and I’m not sure how long I sat there, flicking ants off my legs, scared shitless that they’d somehow engineered those tracker jacker things. 

Then, my stomach growled. Since I didn’t know shit about mushrooms or hunting weasels, there was nothing to do but curse and suffer.

After a few hours, the unmistakable shouting and thuds of a brawl called me down from my hiding spot. I kept low and crept to where the two HgH hotheads were clashing, rolling on the ground, pulling hair, gouging eyes. 

I have to admit, if I’d been on the balcony watching this shit, I could see the erotic value. 

When one guy finally won the advantage, he straddled the other one’s chest. He smiled with blood all over his teeth, looked around, and found a rock. The bottom bloke blocked his face while the victor mashed his arms and his chest and just kept slamming that stone into him while the other guy screamed and thrashed.

“The fuck.”

I’d kicked plenty of arses and had my own handed to me in alleys and carparks. I enjoy a good zombie film with guts and brains. I’m not a squeamish person, but that was a level of fucked up I’d never witnessed before.

The worst part is that I thought of finding a rock of my own, rushing in and battering them both. That would leave only one contender besides me. At that moment, I checked over my shoulder to be sure he wasn’t watching me, thinking the same thing. Of course, I could also hide again and let them all have at it and hope I’d be the last man standing. 

I’m no coward, but what I did instead was carry myself, shoeless, and in nothing but a thong through the woods in the direction I hoped would lead back to civilization.


	43. Chapter 43

ZILV 

Although I stood there like Adam in the bible, covering myself with a branch, I finally hitched a ride and borrowed some clothes from a lorry driver. When I stumbled back onto Oskar’s porch, Raevn opened the door. She looked me over and called for him without looking back. 

He stepped beside her, eyes wide. “Hell of a weekend, eh, son?”  
   
At the moment, it seemed easier to say I was robbed than to go into the gory details of the ordeal.

“Jesus. Should we call the police?”

“Where’s Rourke?” I asked, pushing my way into the house. 

Those two looked between each other. Finally, Oskar asked, “Did he not contact you?”

I didn’t have time for riddles. I ran up to his room and found it empty. 

“I’m afraid he’s gone, Zilv.”

“Gone where?” My throat constricted. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had any water. “Where would he have gone? Back to Harlow?”

“I’m not entirely sure.”

“Did he say anything?”

Oskar shook his head. “He thanked me for everything.” 

Raevn added. “Said Oz was a good father.” 

 

ROURKE 

I crossed my arms and legs, making myself smaller in the back of the huge, black car. My thumbnails were already gnawed to shreds. Through the tinted windows, Brentwood became St. Albans. 

On the long drive, I tried not to think about what I was leaving or where I might be going. Pretended I wasn’t even a real person. I was a character. My whole life was a show. Like in that Truman movie. Everyone was actors. Everything we said or did was scripted.

And I wasn’t some hapless moron being duped by everyone. I was the hot, older director guy who created and exploited the world. That was the only reason I ever had Zilv. My lies had brought him to me. Now, they were spiralling me up the social ladder. 

Boyfriends come and go. This was a matter of survival. 

The best thing I could do was keep on being fake. Smile when it was expected. Pout when that would be cute. No more Zilv. No more Holden. Goodbye YouTube. 

The driver kept on through St. Albans, past Toddington to the villa on the lake in Walton Park where I was to play the role of a lifetime. 


	44. Chapter 44

ZILV

I held the door open to let the bloke out. As he stepped past me, he turned and puckered. Kissing before and during was one thing, but not after. I never kissed them GoodBye. Never encouraged them to call or pretended that I would, no matter how hot it was.

“Night,” I said and shut the door. 

As soon as the place was empty, Rourke took over my brain again. It was a constant fucking nightmare. I could put him out of my mind while I was working. I could forget him while I watched TV, or read a good book, but most of the time, it was a hard chase keeping the thought of him from wrecking my day.

I’d forbidden myself to rewatch his channel. At 2 AM, the easiest thing would have been to shower and go to bed. Only, I knew full well that I’d just lie in bed, thinking about that kid.  

Since Oz and Raevn were on holiday, I had the place to myself. So, I rubbed another pinch of coke onto my gums (hated sniffling all the time.) Then, I opened my Grindr app.

Found a guy. Showered. Waited

At first, after Rourke left, I only fucked girls. Eventually, I worked up the courage to spitroast this one juicy slag with another waiter from the restaurant was bi. From there, it wasn’t much of a leap to shag him. 

As soon as it was over and I lay in bed next to Rudy, feeling like an entirely different person. Not different so much as new. Changed. Maybe unleashed is a better word. 

In that moment, I understood how full of shit I’d been. I hadn’t put off fucking Rourke because of his age. That was a small part of it, but fucking a lad I loved would have been a complete admission that I was gay. And then, maybe I’d never look back. 

I wasn’t ready for that when I met him. It’s one thing to have a lad suck you off. Once you fuck another male, you’re a fag. No arguments. I just wasn’t ready.

Within a few months, I’d lost track of how many blokes I’d stuffed. I played strictly with muscled lads as big as me or bigger. We’d workout or go dancing and then find a dark corner. That crazy Hunger Games weekend made me hungry for the primal fight for dominance. 

On my profile, I had a strict no-twinks policy. No pretty little fembois. No sissies. No drama. Also, I didn’t want to be with someone who’d remind me of Rourke. I got my fair share of hate about that, but what I should have posted was “anything but Rourke again.” I even bagged a trans-bloke: male up top, female below. That was hot as fuck. 

I tried to bottom once. Couldn’t get into it. I don’t love giving head either. I’m an arse man, not a dick man.  

I was out of the shower again by the time Number 2 rang the bell. I pulled on my shorts to preserve some mystery. Opened the door, yanked him inside and pinned him to the door. No point wasting time with needless talking.


	45. Chapter 45

ROURKE

I touched up the corner of Vykki’s lipstick with my pinkie. Her makeup looked fabulous if I must say so myself. She bopped off for a look in the mirror and called out, “Your bathroom is amazing.” 

When I entered, she was flicking the vanity lights off and on. 

“The entire flat. It’s like… Kim K’s summer place. I saw it on the show once. What does your boyfriend do again?”

It was awkward to hear her use that word. Boyfriend. Chas was old enough to be my great-grandfather. Thankfully, he’d never insisted on any title at all. I smiled and told her he was a former barrister. 

“Well, it’s beautiful.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Guess he likes pretty, new things.”  

She meant it as a compliment. I painted on an authentic-looking smile for my one and only friend.   
Vyktoria and I met at a boutique. I’d commented on her Grecian bone structure. She’d liked my curls. We were instant friends, or as close as I’d had in a while. Makeup buddies.

“Stay for dinner?” I offered.

“Can’t today, darling. Next time, maybe, yeah?” 

She blew air kisses past each cheek and flitted out of the door.

I couldn’t blame her. The place was opulent, but that couldn’t erase the pervasive stench. I always forgot about it until I left the house. As soon as I returned, it swept over me like a sandstorm of shit. I suppose you’d call it a shitstorm, except that the faeces wasn’t flying about. It rested tidily in Chas’ colostomy bag, which only rarely slipped or exploded. Or whatever it did.

He and I played out a shit-smelling fairy tale wherein I was his angel-princess and he was my colon-less septuagenarian Prince Charming. 

My life was gloriously predictable. At Chas’ discretion, I took all meals except breakfast alone in my room. At 7 PM, unless otherwise instructed, I’d begin cleaning myself so I was ready for him at 8.  

Way off in his wing, his nurse would freshen him, I suppose. I rarely wandered over there where it stank the most.

When Chas entered the playroom wearing a black cummerbund over his pouch and a pair of swim trunks, I’d be nude, on my hands and knees over a 17th-century Welsh ottoman. People often asked if his spotted, sagging skin or his bone-thin limbs, or the wispy white hairs that covered every inch of him weren’t a hideous turn-off. I didn’t find him sexy if that’s the question, but he was always kind to me. Never raised his voice or his hand. Often called me Sweetheart. 

On the single occasion we went out, he’d flown in his Parisienne tailor to create the most luxurious, white satin suit for me. The day I wore it, I’d died and awoken in heaven. As if to prove it, Chas introduced me to everyone as his Angel. 

Usually, he’d begin our evening sessions by stroking and worshipping my ass. Then he’d finger me with one of his bony claws. From there, he’d upgrade to a surgically cold dildo. We learned on our first session that my skin is too sensitive for lubricant. Chas’ doctor wisely suggested we use copious amounts of saliva. 

Since Chas couldn’t produce enough, we’d use mine, spat into a cup. 

When he was ready, he’d flick the button. There I’d be, with the wheezing of Chas’ lungs in one ear and the whirring of his machine behind me as it pulsed in and out of my arsehole. 


	46. Chapter 46

ZILV 

My ears were ringing after another a long, loud night.  
Raving is not for the faint of heart. The following morning, I shuffled my club feet into the kitchen for coffee. The last thing I wanted to hear was Oz mumble, “May I make a suggestion?”

“No.”

“Condoms are not the devil, son.”

I hadn’t yet filled my cup, but turned on my heels to flee the fucking judgment.

“I merely saw the prescription,” Oskar explained. “Raevn said it’s a common treatment for syphilis.”

The bloody nosy git followed me.

“Syphilis, son? I mean, that’s treatable, but not everything is. This is the second prescription in as many months, isn’t it? There’s no shame in being safe.” 

“I don’t need your fucking advice.”

I narrowly stopped myself shoving him. But he wouldn’t let up. Pulled from his pocket a pack of trojans condoms. “This is the brand Raevn and I use. Do you need instructions on how to—”

I knocked the box from his hand and punched the old bastard right in his jaw. Not sure what I expected him to do, but he struck me back in the centre of my chest. You’d expect him to go easy, but it was a solid one, too. Lungs burning, I stumbled back. 

His nostrils flared for a moment and I waited for another blow. Braced for it. Assumed a fighting stance with fists raised. Finally. We’d kill each other or only one of us would walk away. 

Instead, Oskar’s shoulders fell, face softened. “I heard from Rourke.”

The words struck harder than a fist.

“Don’t do that.”

“He asked if you were still living here.”

“You’re having me on.”

“Asked how you were.”

My teeth could have ground diamond. 

“I told him you were terrific except for the constant string of STIs.”

This time I shoved him against the fridge and pinned a forearm under his chin. Oskar countered with a gut check and I backed off, gripping my stomach.

“I get that you cared about the lad,” Oskar said. “And breakups always sting, son. I get that. But abusing yourself doesn’t hurt Rourke.”  
   
“Fuck you.” I stood upright and walked away.

“I’m trying to help, Zilv.”

“I don’t fucking need your help,” I said. “And don’t mention that piece of shit to me again.”

 

Two days later, I received an envelope with eight hundred English pounds folded in a note that read only:

Sorry. 


	47. Chapter 47

ROURKE

I sat across the breakfast table from Chas, humming Hang the DJ while he read the paper. 

“Lovely day,” I said, for no reason. 

It just was. The sun was shining through the huge kitchen windows. It might be nice to have a walk or a picnic. 

He folded down the edge of his paper enough so I could see his kindly yellow eyes. “What was that, angel?”

“Never mind,” I said. “Not important.”

The paper flipped back up, and I went on humming and stirring salt into my eggs.


	48. Chapter 48

ZILV

If Oskar planned to wreck my mind by mentioning Rourke, he was wildly successful.

I didn’t mess around while I was under treatment. Have always despised condoms. The only reason I ever went out was to pick up guys. So, I stayed at home on the sofa with my mobile. 

First, I watched the jackass with the wasp stings. Then, I watched a bit of porn. 

After he left, I blocked Rourke’s number. Put him in the past. Didn’t want to see his adorable face. Or find out where he’d been the past few months. Or who he was with. I didn’t even want to know why the hell he’d left without saying a damn thing. He belonged in the past.   
He’d been gone two months. I should have been over it.   
Only I wasn’t.  
It was inevitable. There was no way not to visit Rourke’s channel. It was a compulsion. Only Rourke had discontinued transmission after that jumping video. Hundreds of fan questions went unanswered whether they’d killed him in a hate crime? 

I would have torn the cash he sent to shreds. Every bloody pound of it. But I’d quit working at the Manhole and the Press Room, in case those rich freaks came looking for me. Instead, I was picking up odd jobs, earning enough to pay for my food and my phone. 

What I did was fold it back into the envelope and put it aside for emergencies.   
Then, I did something I hadn’t done since primary school. I responded with a postcard that said:

Thanks. 


	49. Chapter 49

ROURKE 

The next postcard read:

How’ve you been?

**Z**


	50. Chapter 50

Dear Zilv,  
I owe you an apology and an explanation…

 

He went on for two pages doing just that. I could reprint the letter here. Some of what he wrote, I already knew. Some details were new.

The following day, I came in from a mowing job, showered and laid on my bed listening to Chris and the lads. There was a party I could go to, but it wasn’t what I wanted. More than anything, I wanted to lie with Rourke’s head on my arm. Mumble at him. Feel his voice in my ribs. 

I wasn’t sure whether his number had changed, but I tried a text to the old mobile.

ME: You up?

A song and a half passed before I got a reply. 

ROURKE: It’s nearly 8

My chest flared. Real-time contact

ME: So, yes?

ROURKE: Yes (smiling face emoji)

ME: Okay if I call?

ROURKE: Have to do something. 

ME: Yeah. Sure. No problem. 

ROURKE: Try after 10. 

 

I waited until 10:30. We talked until 3.


	51. Chapter 51

ZILV

After a sleepless night, I dragged my sorry ass to the kitchen counter. Oskar and Raevn, standing by the stove, looked up from their snogging and hushed laughter.

“What do I do?”

They blinked, waiting for the rest of it. 

“I want him back.”

“I want to be clear,” Oskar asked, finally pulling away to take a step toward me. “Are you actually coming to me for advice?”

“I was asking her.” 

They both laughed.

“Don’t be an arsehole, Oz.” I was whinging by this point. “What do I have to do?”

“Have you spoken with him?” Raevn asked. 

I gritted my teeth, clenched my jaw and ground out the words, “Yeah. He’s with someone else.”

“Oh.”

For the first time in years, I dropped my face into my hands and gave up trying to look cool and in control. I sat at the breakfast nook in the house where I’d been a lad and let my father watch me cry.

Raevn mercifully excused herself to the loo. Oskar stood on the other side of the kitchen, silent. I would have rather died than sit there snivelling, but I couldn’t make it stop. And he wouldn’t go away. The moment I got up and tried to leave, Oz crossed the floor and trapped me up in a big, stupid hug. 

I tried to shove off and escape, but the bastard wouldn’t let me. He held on until I stopped growling and pummelling his midsection.

“All right?”

“Get the fuck off me, Oz.”

“Zilvinas.”

Then he got unfair. Started humming Čiūčia liūlia dukrytėla.

"Aw, bugger off, mate." I shoved at it again, but he wasn't letting go.

Before long, the damn song paralyzed me. I may as well have been three years old again, on my močiutė’s lap. I physically could not do anything other than sink into the damn hug. 

When I finally quit bawling, Oz let loose but kept his hands firm on my shoulders. 

“After your mum left, it took me three years to get myself together, quit the drinking, complete the anger management course. But I did it,” he said. “And I sent her money for you all, but she’d never cash the cheques. Always sent me back the torn bits. When I called, she wouldn’t let me talk to you. I spent years fucking gutted thinking my own kids didn’t want to see me.”

I never knew any of that.

“I begged and pleaded for her to come back and all I ever got was a Fuck You and a Go to Hell,” he said. “And you know what? It’s what I deserved.”

“Is this supposed to help?”

He smiled. “What I’m saying is I tried. I did what I could.”

I wiped my snotty nose with the back of my hand. 

“She wouldn’t take me back and I had to respect that. I’d fucked it up and lost everything. But at least I tried.”


	52. Chapter 52

ZILV

I arrived half hour early and reserved a corner table with booths. We’d never been on a proper date and my belly was fluttering. In fact, I could count on one hand the number of times I’d taken Anna, or any girl out, like that. A tiger lily lay on the table beside my steaming cup of coffee. I’ve never felt so exposed in my life. 

I wasn’t a cafe person. I was a rave person. A pub person. But this is where Rourke wanted to meet. He entered like he owned the place, dressed in white, lips slathered pink and glossy. He looked good. Golden curls hanging over his eye. Lip gloss. Rings on his manicured fingers. He looked really good.

I swore under my breath, stood and offered the flower. 

Rourke smiled. “You remembered?”

I’m not sure that I remembered, but I was sure as shit glad he liked it.

Rourke started to offer his hand, but I curled an arm around his waist, drew him close enough to kiss his cheek. He pulled away, smoothing his clothes and mumbling about ordering his drink. 

Everyone else in the cafe was involved in their own conversation. Between the buzz of their voices and the occasional rumble of the cappuccino machines, the pleasantly annoying ambience kept me from feeling like I’d have to keep the conversation alive to avoid a deafening silence. 

Finally, Rourke sat down, blowing the fog away from his mug.

“So,” I asked after burning my tongue on my tea. “Chas.”

“Is that where we’ll start?”

“He’s lucky,” I said. “That’s all.” 

I kept the violent thoughts to myself.

“So, are you still embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“I was never embarrassed.”

Rourke raised a sceptical brow.

 “I’d fuck you on this table right now.”

He diverted his eyes and scratched his neck. “Would you say that on a first date?”

“If I meant it, sure.”

“So, how’s work?”

He wanted to play like strangers. Fine. I answered. We’d caught up by phone. 

“So, he’s like… you two are… “ I stuttered. “Does he know you’re here?”

Rourke nodded. “Sends his greetings. He doesn’t mind if I see other people.”

 

ROURKE

It wasn’t entirely true. I could tell that Chas didn’t love me meeting Zilv, but he’d expressly said that he understood that I was young and wild and wanted to feel free. He basically gave me a free pass to go fuck my ex, if it made me happy.  
   
“And what does he do?” Zilv asked.

“He’s retired.”

“Oh, so he’s… a lot older.”

“You knew that.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”  He had another sip.

“So, why did you want to see me?”

“Because I love you and I miss you,” he said. “I thought that was clear.”

I don’t know what answer I’d expected, but not that one. 

“Is that… at all mutual?”

My mug clinked onto the table. Zilv was always so easy with those kinds of words. Even in my head, they were live ammunition. 

“I stole your money,” I reminded him. 

“I know.”

“And I cheated on you.”

Zilv looked across the room, composing himself. “I know that too.”

I’d poured it all out in the letter. We’d discussed everything on the phone. There was really no point to this meeting except for mutual torture. 

“Listen, I…” He cleared his throat. “Every girl I ever dated, I fucked around. Every single one. It’s just karma.”

“Karma.” I chuckled. “I suppose I’ll always have feelings for you, Zilv. That doesn’t go away, does it?”

“Not so far.”

“But, I’m not… I can’t… I’ve got a great thing going and I don’t want to mess it up.”

Zilv nodded. 

All this time and I still couldn’t tell him the truth.   
He terrified me. 

Eventually, Chas would replace me with a younger model. In five years or ten. Then, maybe I’d be offended, and I’d have to find a job. That’s all. 

 Zilv had already devastated me once. Sitting across the table from him was agony. Even looking at him wrecked me. I couldn’t put myself through being with him again. 

“Look, Rourke,” he said. “You did what you did. And I pushed you around, and wouldn’t touch you in public. I tried to put a fucking nappy on you without permission.”

For some reason, that last offence hit me like a crack in the ice. I laughed into my hand. Zilv smiled and glanced at the curious cafe spectators.

“So, is that… Is that what you’re into?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I was curious about it,” Zilv admitted. “I’m into you, Rourke. I want to try all kinds of things with you. And if we aren’t both turned on by it—”

“I’ve got to go.” The words spilt from my mouth.

It had been a mistake. I’m not sure what I thought would come of meeting Zilv. He was just another guy who only wanted my arse. With Chas, I traded my arse for a free ride. Zilv was easier on the eyes, but he was also a flight risk. I left the lily on the table and moving toward the door to avoid another excruciating hug.

Zilv followed me, held the door open and stepped onto the street with me. “Can I see you again?”

“I don’t know, Zilv.”

“Yes, you do.”

He was full of surprises that day. 

“I mean… you know,” he said. “You know after a first date if you want to see the other person again. You know if you’d like to fuck them. You know if you might want to spend the rest of your life with them. If you could love them. You know. I did. I mean, the first time I fucking saw you. I didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t… wrap my mind around it, but I knew.”

We were both quiet. Zilv had exhausted his word quota for the week. I was plain speechless. For a moment. Then I shook my head. 

"I just can't."

 

"


	53. Chapter 53

ROURKE

When it came time to serve Chas, I assumed the position without difficulty. The moment he touched me, I began to shake and cry. I apologized, but I couldn't stop. He stopped immediately, touched my shoulder and asked what was wrong.

“I don’t know. I, um… I think I have some sort of infection or… I’ll be better tomorrow. I promise.”

“Of course, darling,” he said. "Get some rest."


	54. Chapter 54

ZILV

I’d done what I could do, and I was out of clever ideas. Watching Rourke walk away was worse than the first time. At least then, I hadn't known it would be over until he was already gone. 

Oskar didn’t even bother to ask. He and Raevn watched me to my room and all he said was, “If you want to talk…”

He’d said it, plain as day. They don’t always take you back. Sometimes, you just fucking lose everything and you have to start over. I shut the door, emptied a bottle of whisky and planned to sleep for a few weeks. 

When I awoke, it was dark out. Might have been the same day. Maybe not. My head screamed, limbs hung limp and heavy. The house was strangely quiet. None of Raevn’s island music or her overloud laughter. They must have gone out to give me silence for my suffering. I rolled over and pulled a pillow over my head. 

Then, there was a bump in the living room. And although I feared the noise might result in seeing my father shagging his girlfriend, I also had to piss. 

I stepped into the dark corridor. The sound had stopped, so I went to the loo. When I came out again, I could sense instinctively that something was off. I crept through the living room, unplugged a lamp to use as a weapon. 

A few dozen candles lit up the dining room table. In their centre sat a beautiful, pale and perfectly naked lad with his legs crossed and his elbows on his knees, waiting. 

“You said you’d fuck me over a table.”

Common sense made me check over my shoulder. 

“They went to hers,” Rourke explained and scooted to the edge. “I asked them to give us some quiet.”

“I thought you were—”

Whatever I was going to say fell into his open mouth. 

I’d like to say I performed admirably that firt time. That I lasted over five minutes. The truth is, I finished in record time which is only impressive in a race. I slumped over Rourke’s chest and apologised.

“It was lovely,” he cooed. “Thank you.”

He rubbed my back, legs around my hips, ankles clasped at the base of my back. I fought the urge to ask if I was bigger than his old man. I even beat the urge for a moment. Then, I asked if I was better. 

“He doesn’t… We don’t… Let me up, please.”

Just like that, I’d destroyed the magic. Rourke hopped to his feet and stepped into his underwear. All I could do was stand there, holding my cock while he prepared to walk out again. 

He’d come down here from his flaccid, wrinkly bastard boyfriend to get a stiff dick in him. That’s all I’d be: booty call. 

I ran a hand over my hair while Rourke pulled on his shirt and glanced over his shoulder at me. Then he walked from the room. I planted my feet, forbade myself to beg or run after him. I was Rourke’s backdoor man. It was better than nothing. 

I nodded to myself as the front door squealed open. That was it. No goodbye kiss. No idea when or whether he’d be back. This little fucker was working me over like a two-bit mistress and I was going to put up with it. 

The door squeaked open again. 

“Could I get a hand here?” Rourke shouted through the dark house. 

I rushed to the door and helped the lad drag in his luggage.


	55. Chapter 55

ROURKE

All right, so, I was sitting on the hood of Zilv’s car, chewing gum. We were supposed to be visiting his mum, but something was keeping him. The door opened, and the puppy shot out like a comet. 

“God damn it, Dobby,” Zilv called and scrambled along behind him with his knuckles dragging the ground like a gorilla. 

He had no chance of catching that animal. 

“Are you going to fucking help me or what?”

He wanted the dog, not me. Random fact: Zilv Gudeli is incredibly talented with his tongue and fingers, but he never learned to whistle properly. When I did, the scraggly little cur came barrelling at my legs.

 

ZILV

“I have an idea,” Rourke said once the pup was in his kennel and we were all in the car.

“Okay.”

“Don’t go all weird,” he said, which did not fill me with confidence. “We could make some money. Maybe have some fun. It’d be a bit like the YouTube channel, only different.”

“Listening.”

“Well…” 


End file.
